


Does a lone wolf howl at the moon?

by samariumwriting



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Crests (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Developing Relationship, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 73,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25689520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samariumwriting/pseuds/samariumwriting
Summary: When Sylvain watched his childhood friend depart over the hills of Gautier in the late summer of 1176, he had no idea it would be the last time in years. That winter, his friend vanished, and was eventually presumed dead.Years later, Sylvain reunites with Felix at the Officers Academy, but something has changed. Felix is different - he's no longer the crybaby who comes to Sylvain for every problem under the sun. Instead, he's sharper, more dangerous. There's something undeniably off about Felix, and Sylvain has to find out what it is.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 74
Kudos: 103
Collections: Sylvix Big Bang





	1. Childhood's End

**Author's Note:**

> (This note is a lil lengthy - tldr, I loved writing this, I collaborated with @random_catties and she produced a lovely piece of art for the fic, and the final paragraph contains warnings for this chapter)
> 
> Oh god it's finally here. This is my lockdown baby (I started this in March), the longest thing (to date) that I've written, and I'm so, so proud of it. Whether you're reading this as I post it for the Sylvix Big Bang 2020 or later, I really, really hope you enjoy.
> 
> As a bang piece, this has art paired with it! It was posted by @random_catties on her Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/random_catties/status/1290475339278254082?s=20). The piece itself depicts a scene from Ch9 and quotes Ch6!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: canonical character death, temporary non-canonical character death, grief and mourning, allusions towards abuse, accidental misgendering, references to compulsory heterosexuality, and implied transphobia

The sun was setting when Sylvain stood at the gate to the Gautier castle, watching the Fraldarius party cross the hills. Mostly, he was watching the younger Fraldarius child, riding on a smaller, chestnut horse next to Rodrigue’s far larger one. They travelled with a couple of knights, one of whom carried the Fraldarius banner.

Sylvain was sad to see them go so soon. When the Fraldarius family visited, everyone had to be on their best behaviour. His father and brother included, which always made things so much better than when it was just them in the castle.

The other thing that made it better was when Rodrigue’s second child came with him to visit. That always meant that Sylvain could fill his hours with all kinds of adventures and experiences that never had quite the same magic when he was on his own. He liked the company.

He missed the Fraldarius family when they were gone, but he knew they had to go; Glenn, who was a _knight_ now (Sylvain was very aware that Glenn was only a handful of years older than him, and if he was anywhere close to decent at fighting he’d be following in his footsteps soon enough, but it wasn’t like Miklan had done that so it was okay), was back in Fraldarius.

Glenn would receive some of the knights from the party that had come to Gautier territory for the visit, and then he’d travel to Duscur with the royal family. It would be a long trip, and it was an important one, so of course the main members of the Fraldarius family had to see him off.

That said, Sylvain felt a slightly bitter feeling bubble up inside him as he watched them go. He didn’t like being left alone again. So he watched them all the way as they rode over the hills and vanished into the evening light.

That was a month before the massacre that changed everything. Soon afterwards, his friend disappeared, and Sylvain didn’t see Rodrigue’s second child again for four years.

The initial disappearance wasn’t reported. There was so much going on in the wake of the Tragedy, so what was one more missing teenager? Duke Fraldarius had clearly thought that, whatever had happened, it would blow over. That his only remaining child would return.

A week passed. Once a week and a half had gone by, the search began. Messengers were dispatched across the Kingdom, trying to find out where on earth someone as important as the new Fraldarius heir could have gone. Messengers came up to Gautier territory, wondering if the young heir had been found by a friend.

But by the time a week and a half had gone by, any potential trail had gone cold. The youngest Fraldarius couldn’t be found.

They waited another week, but no new leads showed up. Life had to go on. Sylvain attended Glenn’s funeral as the representative from the Gautier house, though he was not yet heir. His father had said it was more appropriate for him to go instead of Miklan. Sylvain had always got on far better with everyone in the Fraldarius family.

After that was done, they waited another week for the remaining child to return. Then they waited another month. But no one showed up with any new information; there were no leads, no potential sightings. There wasn’t even a sign of a body.

Eventually, they stopped looking even for that. Sylvain, now the heir of House Gautier, attended his second Fraldarius funeral in a year and watched a father bury a second empty coffin belonging to a child whose time came too soon.

The death was a shadow that hung over everything. It hung over his interactions with Dimitri, now so much dimmer than before. It crowded into every moment he spent with Ingrid, who could barely do more than leave her room. The loss of their friend just made the worst months of their lives even worse.

It only felt worse when Sylvain next saw Rodrigue. His father, tired of his constant...antics in town (that was the nice word. It had been called womanising and philandering. Others said he was whoring himself, prostituting himself), had sent him to train in the lance with someone else. Hopefully someone he wouldn’t want to disappoint quite so much.

The fact that Sylvain had stayed in the town closest to the Fraldarius castle the night before he arrived and had been kicked out of not one but four bars and had already found at least two women to sleep with was another matter. Completely separate to the issue at hand; his dead friend.

The issue at hand was an apology. “You don’t need to apologise to me, milord,” he said. “It happened to all of us, and the things that hurt me aren’t your fault.” Out of everyone, Sylvain knew he was probably the least affected by this whole Tragedy business. He was the one who needed an apology the least.

Rodrigue sighed. “I wish that was the case,” he said. “But I’m afraid I feel rather responsible for the disappearance. We had a...disagreement over Glenn. I thought the resulting fallout was temporary, and that we’d come to an understanding soon enough.” That there hadn’t been the time for them to understand each other went unsaid.

Rodrigue’s hands were clasped tightly in front of him, and he looked towards the ground. Perhaps Sylvain wasn’t the most perceptive or understanding person in the world, but he could at least make an attempt at following the Duke’s thought process.

He’d lost his two children in quick succession, and while Glenn had died with honour, fulfilling his duty, his other child? Well, there was nothing glorious in vanishing and then dying, leaving not even a trace. There were no tales of bravery to tell, no pride to be held close to Rodrigue’s chest. No knowledge that his child would rest in peace.

Rodrigue had been left alone so suddenly, and he clearly thought it was all his fault. “It’s okay,” Sylvain said, even though it clearly wasn’t. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

Rodrigue smiled, and they let the conversation be, but something about it didn’t quite settle in Sylvain’s mind. Yes, it was okay, and Rodrigue shouldn’t blame himself. But at the same time, he wished he’d known that it had happened. Maybe his friend had tried to run to him. Maybe if he’d known, he would have been able to go and look.

But he didn’t say anything of the sort. The Duke didn’t need to know how Sylvain felt; he already blamed himself enough. Instead, he let the feeling settle in his chest just like everything else.

And then he moved on. Because he had to. Because, no matter how much it hurt, the world kept turning. Time kept marching on. Terrible things happened, but they didn’t happen continually. Sylvain had things to do, responsibilities to shirk, and people to disappoint. So he mourned, but he moved on.

At least, he thought he’d moved on. Until the rumours started circulating up to Gautier about something changing in Fraldarius lands.

Hearsay in the town informed Sylvain that a young person had been taken into the Fraldarius castle and had been staying there for perhaps a few weeks now. The tone people used to deliver the news to him was one he was used to; they thought that, whoever it was, Sylvain would want to go after them.

But instead, it got him thinking. Sure, there was no definitive description of the young woman going around - some said she was several years younger than Sylvain, some the same age, some older. One account told him she had long, dark, beautiful hair, while others said she resembled the Prince.

Many of the accounts speculated that she was a forgotten or hidden daughter of the Duke, or the Duke’s brother. Not one of them suggested that she was anyone who was previously thought dead and gone. But Sylvain still wondered: was it his friend, back from the dead? Or was that just wistful thinking?

Fortunately, he didn’t have to wonder for long. Barely days after the rumours started circling, a messenger came from House Fraldarius, dressed in bright blue and bearing a letter written on thick parchment. Sylvain was the one to receive the messenger in the hallway, though the man said he wouldn’t leave until he saw the Margrave himself receive the letter.

His father took a little longer to find, leaving Sylvain practically vibrating in place. Rodrigue didn’t often send official messages; he was close enough to his father that he tended to send more personal letters instead. If this was official, it meant it was something very important.

When his father took the letter, there was an indecipherable look on his face. When he read it, the parchment turned away from Sylvain, his eyebrows rose in surprise, but nothing else gave away what the contents could possibly be. “Go on,” he said, handing the letter over to Sylvain. “I can see you’re dying to read it. You won’t be disappointed.” Hands shaking slightly, Sylvain took the parchment and began to read.

‘A proclamation from Duke Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius and his House to Margrave Horatio Jean Gautier and his House; greetings,’ the letter began. ‘This is a notification of most joyous news for my own family and, I hope, the Kingdom as a whole. I write to announce that my son (formerly daughter) Felix Hugo Fraldarius, previously missing and presumed dead, has returned to Fraldarius and has been reinstated to his position as heir to the Fraldarius Dukedom.

‘Currently, Felix is recovering from the events of a lengthy absence that previously rendered him unable to return to Fraldarius lands. As such, while any inclinations to welcome my son back to his home are much appreciated, please refrain from visiting while his recovery is ongoing.

‘I wish to thank all those who have supported my family these past few difficult years and hope that similar energy can be directed towards this most joyous change in fortune. I also hope this message finds your House well and in high spirits.

‘May the Goddess protect our Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Signed, Duke Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius.’

Sylvain’s face ached, and he realised he’d been grinning the whole time he was reading. His friend was alive. Alive! It was almost difficult to process just what that meant. Back after so many years- different, but undeniably back. Alive. It was hard to believe, hard to know how to feel.

“I knew you’d be pleased,” his father said. His face was still impassive, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. It was hard to get his father to smile these days. “It’s an encouraging sign for House Fraldarius, of course, though perhaps it’s a shame about the son…”

For a moment, Sylvain couldn’t quite process why his father cared so much. What did it matter if Felix was a man? But of course, it was the age old Crest baby issue. When they were still kids, the question had always floated around: who would Felix marry when he got older? Glenn was engaged to Ingrid, but Felix was going spare. It had been mentioned while they played as children, and probably before then too.

The answer was obvious, of course; if Felix was marrying anyone in his family’s near circle, he’d be marrying Dimitri. The late King and Felix’s father had been close enough that people used to call them a married couple as a joke, and there would have been no better way to seal that bond. Sylvain’s father, of course, had been looking into a different option.

It sat wrong with him now. As a child, Sylvain hadn’t realised that his father was always pushing him to play with the second Fraldarius child - despite the fact that Sylvain initially hated playing with such a crybaby - because he wanted them to establish some kind of connection. Being reminded of it now left a bitter taste in his mouth.

So of course his father was a little sour about it now that option was decidedly off the table. The esteemed Margrave couldn’t have his son marry a man, could he? Even thinking it twisted up some ugly feelings in Sylvain’s chest, but he pushed it down and just smiled brightly, projecting false sincerity to his father. “I think the Duke having a second son has been on the cards for a long while,” he said.

His father paused. “Quite,” he said eventually. In his hand, he held another sheet of paper out to Sylvain. “This was attached to the larger letter,” he said. “It’s addressed to you, though the penmanship is atrocious. I imagine it’s from the son.”

It was all Sylvain could do to not snatch the letter from his father. He may have been eighteen years old now, an adult according to almost all definitions of the word (the thing he was missing, which Ingrid frequently reminded him of, was maturity), but he was excited. The first real trace of one of his childhood best friends in years.

His father was right; the handwriting on the letter was absolutely awful. But Sylvain didn’t care. He took the letter and practically sprinted to his room. When he’d closed the door to give himself a little privacy, he began to read.

‘ ~~Dear~~ Sylvain,’ the letter began. ‘ ~~I hope this letter finds~~ I hope you’re ~~well~~ alive. I know the ~~pretentious~~ letter already told you, but I am too. I’m ~~perfectly~~ fine. My father says I’m healthy enough given the circumstances ~~, so you don’t need to worry about me~~. I would prefer not to have visitors for now, though. The last few years have been ~~terrible~~ ~~interesting~~ ~~awful~~ interesting, so I need some time to adjust. I hope you didn’t mourn me too much ~~, though Father said you did~~. I hope, next time I see you, that you’ll have grown up a bit from when I last saw you and you take things seriously now. ~~Yours,~~ Felix.’

Reading the letter, Sylvain couldn’t help but laugh. It was very...Felix. Very much the petulant and slightly sarcastic child he remembered. One who got embarrassed easily, cried easily, worried about everything and never quite knew what to say. This letter was absolutely the person he grew up with, no doubt about it. Not that he’d doubted the proclamation, exactly, but it was still a good feeling.

There was only one thing. And maybe it was greedy to want so much, but Sylvain had long since learned that if he wanted something, the best way to ensure he didn’t get it was to never ask. And what he really wanted right now, more than almost anything, was to see Felix for himself. So, naturally, he wrote a letter in return.

‘Dear Felix,’ he wrote. ‘I hope the letter finds you well, rather than just ‘alive’ or ‘fine’. Receiving yours was a joy; good to know you haven’t forgotten your pal Sylvain after three years adventuring around Fódlan! I’m really happy you’re back. Obviously take all the time you need, but please let me know as soon as you’re ready for visitors and I’ll come right away.

‘Also, as per your suggestion, I regret to inform you that I haven’t grown up a single bit, at least not in the way you’re probably hoping. However, if you were wondering, I am now dashingly rather than boyishly handsome and I attract all the ladies. Yours, Sylvain.’

It was a good letter, in Sylvain’s opinion; clear, humourous, and full of the charm he put into all his interactions. But it was also genuine, and friendly, and Sylvain thought it hit the mark.

Felix didn’t reply.

Sylvain waited a week before he started to get antsy for a reply. It took a month for him to stop dropping everything to greet the messengers as soon as they arrived. It took another three for him to give up on them bringing a letter from Felix entirely.

He was disappointed, sure, but he tried not to overthink it. If he wrote again, he’d look clingy or desperate. Felix clearly just didn’t want to talk to him right now, and he tried to tell himself that he was okay with that. And he was, in a way. If Felix needed time and space, he understood that; he’d always been a bit like that, even as a kid. That said, he was worried. So the next time he was in Fhirdiad with Ingrid, he brought it up.

“Ah, I was worried it was just me,” Dimitri admitted, smiling at Sylvain a little hesitantly. Everything he did seemed to be hesitant these days, but he was doing a lot better than before. “Felix wrote to me too, and I replied, but he never got back to me. I was concerned I said the wrong thing.”

“No, it’s me too,” Ingrid said. “I wrote three times, actually. I asked Felix if I could visit, but he didn’t reply any of the three times. Then I asked the Duke, and he said I could, but he couldn’t guarantee that Felix would be able to see me. I visited last moon, but I didn’t see a trace of him. It’s like he’s not even there.”

Dimitri frowned. “Did Rodrigue talk about him? Or the staff?”

Ingrid nodded. “He spoke about things they’d done together, and I heard some kitchen staff talking about taking a meal up for him. He’s there, I just...couldn’t see him. I wish I knew why, but Lord Rodrigue always just said he was still recovering. He wouldn’t say from what.”

Dimitri sighed. “That’s what he told me, too,” he said. “I wrote, and asked if he could bring Felix with him when he next visited. I said he would be fully provided for, that the doctors in the palace were at his disposal for anything he needed, and yet Rodrigue didn’t grant my request. He came alone, and has done so several times.”

“I have to say, I’m worried,” Ingrid said. “Something truly terrible must have happened to him if he still can’t see us. Rodrigue wouldn’t even let me poke my head into his rooms, just to check he was alive and well!”

“It is scarcely like the Felix we know to stay away so long,” Dimitri agreed. “Especially with all the time we thought he was dead...it’s very concerning. I hope he’s as okay as Rodrigue has indicated; it feels like he’s not really back at all.”

“I bet Felix didn’t want to come back,” Sylvain joked, forcing himself to let out a laugh. He was worried, but he didn’t want the others to stress too much. They had enough on their shoulders. “He probably ran off to be a mercenary for three years, got a plague or something, and decided to come back. I’d guess he hasn’t been allowed to see us because he picked up loads of bad habits from the mercenaries and Lord Rodrigue doesn’t want people hearing his son cuss.”

“Sylvain!” Ingrid said. “Please take this seriously. What if he’s doing worse than he said and he might actually die this time?” Okay, so deflection from the worries at hand hadn’t worked. He was stumped.

“Perhaps,” Dedue started, speaking up for what Sylvain was pretty sure was the first time since he’d arrived, “the young lord Fraldarius is still recovering like Duke Rodrigue informed us. Something terrible may have happened to him and he may simply be unfit for visitors currently. That says nothing about the future.”

Ingrid bristled at the suggestion. “When he wrote to me, he said he was fine,” she said. “He’s a little hardier than needing to stay in bed for eight months after returning. We know him, so that’s why we’re worried.”

Dedue nodded, and though his face was as closed off as it always looked to Sylvain, he could practically feel Dedue trying to work out how to step back from words that weren’t a misstep to anyone other than Ingrid. “Of course,” Dedue said. “My apologies. As you say, I do not know him as well as you.”

“Actually,” Dimitri said, fiddling absentmindedly with the hem of his left shirt sleeve, “I think I agree with Dedue. We have no idea what happened to Felix in that time or what he could still be battling right now. It would not be unlike Felix to insist he was okay rather than admit something was bothering him…”

Ingrid looked between Dimitri and Dedue and then nodded. “You’re right, your Highness,” she said. “I suppose I’m just concerned for him. It’s been so long since any of us saw him, after all.”

Sylvain nodded. He was still thinking about the unreturned letter. He’d been so sure at the time that everything would be back to normal again soon enough, but it still felt like everything had been put on hold for Felix. What they were waiting for him to do, Sylvain didn’t quite know.

Time continued to pass, and the end of the year rolled around. They celebrated another of Dimitri’s birthdays without Felix; another of Ingrid’s, too. Felix’s birthday came and went too, and the only good thing Sylvain could say about it was that at least Felix’s birthday wasn’t being commemorated by visiting his grave and telling bittersweet tales anymore.

Sylvain sent another letter, this time asking Felix if he was coming to the Academy this year. He also asked if he wanted Sylvain to stop by in Fraldarius on his way south, and then wished him a happy birthday. None of the sentiments got a response.

He couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. He knew that it was unlikely that Felix would be coming to the Academy; he’d probably just missed three years of education. Maybe he wasn’t even well enough to attend yet. Maybe Rodrigue wasn’t ready to see him go again after so long of thinking he was dead.

There were many good reasons that Felix might not be able to attend the Officers Academy with the rest of them, but he had sort of hoped that Felix would be there to share the year with him. The Academy was the last year before the rest of his life, and he was determined to enjoy it as much as he could before he was inevitably shouldered with more responsibilities as Gautier heir.

It was also the last year before he was going to be married off to whichever young noblewoman proved herself most likely to be a good wife (whatever that meant to his parents, Sylvain didn’t want to know) and carry a Crest-bearing child. Who knew, maybe the person Sylvain’s parents would pick would be at the Academy with him.

The point was, it would have been nice if Felix could have been there, and it was a sentiment Sylvain couldn’t get out of his mind. They rode through Fraldarius lands, on Fraldarius roads, but they didn’t even stop at the castle to meet with Rodrigue.

When they rode past, Sylvain internally resigned himself to the fact that he probably wouldn’t see Felix for several months, if not a whole year.

Fortunately, Sylvain was wrong.


	2. Something Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: discussion of grief and mourning, discussion of abuse
> 
> This chapter features art!! Commissioned from [@drop_the_e](https://twitter.com/drop_the_e_?s=20), who did an absolutely amazing job

Even after so many years, Sylvain would recognise Felix anywhere.

The last time he’d seen him, his hair had been short and choppy, barely past his ears - at some point in the months before the Tragedy, Felix had cut all his hair off with a knife. He’d been short and, even at thirteen, hadn’t really hit any kind of growth spurt. His face had been round, his eyes wide, and he still, in Sylvain’s head, looked like a kid.

But he was still impossible to miss. Even without the fact that Rodrigue was next to him, it was clear who he was. He was a couple of inches taller (though still not tall), much more muscular, and his hair was now pulled back into a bun, but...it was unmistakably Felix. The Felix who’d been gone for years. The Felix who Sylvain had previously thought was dead.

“Felix!” he called, breaking from his father’s side and hurrying down the dormitory corridor. Felix turned around, and Goddess above he’d somehow managed to get really hot wherever he’d spent the last four years. Felix's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

When Felix was a kid, he’d always been very touchy feely with Sylvain, but he was bad at actually showing the emotions he was feeling on his face. That said, this was a happy reunion with a friend who’d basically returned from the dead, so Sylvain felt like his assumption that Felix would be happy with a hug was a safe one.

But instead of his arms closing around Felix’s shoulders, Sylvain stumbled into empty air as Felix sidestepped him. “Hello, Sylvain,” he said. His left shoe scuffed the floor. “It’s been a while.”

“It has,” Sylvain agreed, “and then you greet me like that? C’mon, Felix, it’s been so long and I just wanted to give my old friend the greeting he deserves. You wound me.” With that, he clutched at his heart, letting out an exaggerated cry, and tried to ignore the slight twinge in his heart that actually came from Felix’s rejection.

“Fine,” Felix said, not even meeting Sylvain’s eyes as he picked up one of the larger bags from the floor and pushed his bedroom door open with his shoulder. “I can see your father coming down the hall. You should probably get your bags. I have things to do as well.”

With that, Felix gathered up three more bags and shuffled them into his bedroom, closing the door behind him and leaving Sylvain and Rodrigue out in the hallway on their own. Rodrigue chuckled, though Sylvain would say he looked a little tired. “Felix is a little different to the child you grew up with,” he said. “He takes some getting used to, but I’m sure you’ll get on again with time. He’s the same at heart.”

“I hope you’re right,” Sylvain replied. He tried not to think about Felix’s stony look, his obvious attempt to avoid spending more time with him. Instead, he thought of the way Felix’s smile looked when they were children., and the way his eyes still looked the same even when the shape of his face had changed a lot. “I missed him. I know you said we couldn’t see him because he’s been recovering but, well- how has he been?”

He just wanted to know. He just wanted to be reassured that Felix hadn’t gone into his room to pass out for twenty hours because walking up a couple of sets of stairs was too much. He wanted to get past everything that had separated them and just be friends again. But instead of answering, Rodrigue just smiled. “You’ll want to ask Felix about how he’s been, rather than me,” he said.

“Lord Rodri-” he opened his mouth to object, but Rodrigue raised a hand to cut him off.

“Ask him,” Rodrigue said firmly. “It’s his information to share. But if you’ll excuse me, I should briefly check on His Highness before I leave.”

“Of course,” he said, bowing his head a little to him as Rodrigue did the same. Not the best of interactions, but it was something. And Felix was definitely alive and definitely here, which was nothing but good news.

Once all his bags were up in his room and his father had affected an ‘emotional but stern’ goodbye for the various people who could be but probably weren’t paying attention, Sylvain was finally left alone to stew in the meaning of that very brief interaction.

Felix had rejected his hug. Maybe he was more sensitive about being touched than before? It had always been a bit iffy as to whether he’d let people get close without making a fuss, so maybe the sidestep was just another form of that. Was that where it had gone wrong, where he’d been cut off from getting any nice responses from Felix?

Or maybe he’d fucked it up when he’d pretended to be hurt. Felix wasn’t always fantastic at picking up on jokes (but that started a whole other train of thought - did Felix get jokes with more ease now? Had Sylvain missed a cue in their short conversation and accidentally been rude to him? Did Sylvain know anything about how to converse with Felix anymore?), so maybe he’d thought Sylvain was genuinely hurt. Maybe that had upset him.

Maybe he was overwhelmed by the whole thing. Maybe he’d been sick and his body was frailer than he wanted to admit. Maybe he no longer felt the kind of connection that warranted a hug at all. Maybe he didn’t want to be friends with Sylvain anymore.

No. Overthinking it all was pointless. The problem was that he just didn’t know the damn answers. And right now, he had no way of making any conclusive judgments on the conversation that seemed, to him, like a carriage crash.

What he did have, however, was time. He had days, weeks, moons to talk to Felix about how things had changed. If their friendship did lie in tatters, then he had time to rebuild it. And no matter what, he would do that. He’d lost his friend once, and he’d be damned to the eternal flames if he let it happen again.

...okay, maybe that was a little dramatic. But he wasn’t going to let that interaction define their relationship from now on.

* * *

Sylvain’s early interactions with his class revealed a handful of things about what he might have messed up in his first encounter with Felix, but not as much as he’d expected. When he was younger, Felix had been very shy. He used to hide behind someone else and let them do the talking - Sylvain had many a memory of attending events in Fhirdiad which all went in pretty much the same way.

Sylvain would arrive with his family, and Felix would arrive with his. Sylvain would escape his brother as soon as he could, excited to do things without being subject to his malicious scrutiny. Felix would stick next to Glenn and his father, but he’d quickly tire of new people and everyone bending down to squish his cheeks. Among other things; Sylvain had been present for at least one suggested marriage partner for Felix, and he was sure more had come up when he wasn’t there.

Once he tore himself away from his father and brother, Felix always danced with Sylvain and Dimitri (usually Dimitri first), and then he’d stuff his face full of food. Any further interactions were mediated by Sylvain, stood between him and anyone who wanted to talk with him. Felix always clearly signalled that he didn’t want to talk to people, and if anyone was too persistent, he’d break out into sniffles.

Whenever this happened (rather than if, because it always happened at some point), Rodrigue would rush in and take Felix off elsewhere to calm down. He’d apologise, ever composed and accommodating, to whichever noble had been left frazzled by Felix’s reaction.

“Please, forgive me for the fuss,” he’d always say, holding Felix’s head against his chest as Felix wailed and clutched his hands over his ears, getting snot and tears all over whichever jacket his father was wearing. “My child has always been very shy. It can make emotional responses...explosive.”

Shy hadn’t seemed like the right descriptor to Sylvain at the time; Felix was always plenty chatty with him, and even when he wasn’t he was quiet, not shy. The little outbursts when Felix got tired seemed completely unconnected to anything else he did - they were just a little part of Felix that didn’t make sense to Sylvain, who by then was in his early teens and taking to flirting perhaps a little too well to bother putting more thought into understanding how his friend’s mind worked.

This new, different Felix, who no longer had to wear dresses or attend fancy balls with his father and brother, was...well, Sylvain actually would describe him as shy, but it was in a different way.

Now, Felix stood alone. When they did a handful of icebreaker activities for their new class, Sylvain managed to piss off every man and woman in the room. Felix did too, but only because...well.

“The idea is that you get to know each other,” Professor Hanneman said. “Please split off into pairs and share as much information as you can about yourself with your partner within a minute. Then, your partner has to introduce you to the rest of the class with those things.”

Sylvain spent his minute flirting with Annette, who produced an absolutely scathing summary of the things he’d said for the rest of the class. But when it was Mercedes’ turn to talk about Felix, she didn’t have much to say. “His name is Felix,” she said. “He’s, ah, he’s from Fraldarius territory, and he’s, um…” She trailed off and looked despairingly at Hanneman.

“Surely there’s something else you can remember,” he encouraged. Mercedes turned her despairing look towards Felix. “Felix’s age? His favourite colour?”

“I, um…” Mercedes smiled a little helplessly. “He couldn’t really think of much to say when put on the spot?” Sylvain had seen them in that minute. Felix had sat in his seat with his hands folded in his lap. He hadn’t said more than a handful of words, but Sylvain had definitely caught the words ‘there’s no point to this’ in Felix’s voice.

In their first class assignment, they were meant to find a partner and research the history of a particular building in the monastery. Ingrid attached herself to Sylvain (“you’ll only terrorise someone else. I’m making a sacrifice for the greater good.”), but Felix immediately announced that he would be working on it alone.

The second thing they did in class was sparring, and it turned out much the same; Felix was paired off with someone after standing on his own, practically refusing to talk to anyone, and repeatedly trounced them until their combat instructor took pity on poor Ashe and gave him a break.

Felix wasn’t rude, exactly...at least, he’d never been rude before. Maybe he was rude now, but Sylvain found that hard to believe. Maybe he’d been shy all along, or maybe… Maybe the tears had dried up and this was a new way of struggling to interact with people when there was no father or brother to cry on.

The problem with all of this was that Felix didn’t like talking to people. This made talking to him and working out what Sylvain had done wrong and then moving on and repairing their friendship very difficult. Even when they weren’t in class Felix could be pretty difficult to find.

If he was in the training grounds, which was always where Sylvain first looked, he was easy to find. This made up most of the time Felix spent outside of lessons, but not all of it. And when he was there, he always rebuffed Sylvain, saying he was busy and didn’t have time to talk. Apparently it didn’t matter that he was better than everyone else in their class already; he still had to train more.

But when he wasn’t in the training grounds, which Sylvain had accepted was the only time he might even entertain the possibility of having a conversation with him...nothing. Absolutely nothing. Felix just vanished into mid air the moment a class ended. Sylvain never saw him in the dining hall, or the library, or even in the baths or in the corridor both their bedrooms were on.

It was a regular occurrence, in those first few weeks, that Sylvain would comb the entire monastery and see no sign of Felix before he was forced to give up. He was about two thirds of the way through his usual post-lessons search (how did Felix manage to disappear so quickly?) when he spotted Claude coming towards him.

Sylvain didn’t know much about the Golden Deer house leader. What he did know, however, was that Claude had a penchant for just knowing things. So he wasn’t surprised when Claude waved and called over to him. “Hey Sylvain! Looking for Felix again?”

“Yeah,” Sylvain said. He wondered how much of a fool he looked to people who didn’t know him. Maybe he looked like a fool to Felix, and he knew Sylvain was looking for him and avoided him on purpose.

“I saw him in the woods yesterday,” Claude said.

“Why were you-” The woods were, as a general rule, off limits to students.

“Ah ah,” Claude said, shooting him a knowing grin. “I give you information, you don’t ask questions. Deal?”

Sylvain weighed it up for a couple of moments. He knew what people tended to say about Claude; that he wasn’t trustworthy, that he collected and dealt out secrets like nobody’s business, that he always had a scheme up his sleeve. Then he remembered the kinds of things that people said about him. And yeah, most of those things were true, but not for quite the same reason. “Sure,” he said. Claude smiled.

The problem, from here, was using the information; Sylvain couldn’t actually find Felix in the forest. He wasn’t sure why he’d thought he’d be able to, considering how big they were and how Felix had presumably just been out in the big wide world for three years. He spent all afternoon out in the woods, only to come back empty handed.

“Oh, hi Sylvain!” Ashe said, waving at him from the top of the steps. “Were you out in the woods? I thought we weren’t really allowed out there.”

“Yeah,” Sylvain admitted, wondering if there was any point in lying to Ashe. He seemed like a naive kind of guy, so maybe. “I was meeting a lovely lady friend out there, so keep it on the down low, okay?”

“Sure,” Ashe said. “If you happened to be looking for Felix, though, he was in the library earlier.”

Damn. Maybe Sylvain had been played for a fool.

When it became clear that talking to him in class wasn’t going to happen and finding him outside of class in anywhere other than the training grounds was impossible, Sylvain knew he had to take a different approach: communicating with Felix on his own terms.

“Hey Felix,” he said. Felix didn’t stop swinging his sword at the very battered training dummy. You’d think he’d get bored of doing the same thing over and over again, but he didn’t seem to. “Spar with me?”

That got his attention. “Don’t expect to win,” Felix said, and he lunged the moment Sylvain grabbed a lance from the training weapons rack.

It turned out that there was quite a lot Sylvain could learn from interacting with Felix on his own terms. The first thing was that Felix moved differently. He’d been no slouch when he was a kid, even when people told him that swordfighting shouldn’t be his priority; he’d always wanted to be better than Glenn, always trained hard.

But at the same time, he was, or at least had been in Sylvain’s memory, lacking a lot of grace. There was something about the way he moved which had always told Sylvain where his weak spots were. He was easy to read and, if you managed to surprise him, he got off balance quickly.

This new Felix was nothing like that. His movements were almost completely new. There was some trace of the child Sylvain had trained alongside, but his actions were no longer predictable. He kept his centre of gravity close to the ground, making him hard to overbalance - but that would have relied on Sylvain being fast enough to even try that.

Sylvain didn’t last long before Felix kicked him to the ground and held a sword to his throat. After a moment, he let him up. “Again,” Sylvain said.

So they went again. And then again. And once more, until both of them were sweating buckets and barely able to stand. But even as Sylvain fought him over and over, it was impossible to get a proper read on Felix’s movements. And even when he could, Felix hit far harder and faster than he did. He didn’t stand a chance.

In short, Sylvain learned two things from sparring with Felix: he moved differently now, and he didn’t lose.

He did this a few times, trying to at least worm his way into a draw in a sparring match. Whenever he made his way to the training grounds, Felix was already there, and he’d usually at least run through his warmups if not his first set of drills. And when Sylvain called it a day, shaking with exhaustion and soaked in sweat, Felix always kept going.

Something about Felix and fighting seemed important, so Sylvain paid close attention to it. He watched how Felix dedicated most of his time to training, and how he always won every bout, and how he was confident in his ability… He watched as Felix only really spoke to people to challenge them to a duel.

When they got a new Professor, Felix’s first words to them involved asking them to fight with him. They were also an individual of few words, but it was in watching them go up against each other that Sylvain realised what was bugging him.

Byleth was level-headed throughout their bout. They won with no small amount of effort, but they never seemed frustrated when things weren’t going quite their way. When the battle was over, they went to speak to another student, coach them through a couple of movements, and then invited them for a chat over tea.

By contrast, Felix muttered to himself about needing to get stronger and immediately returned to more drills, even after Byleth told him to do some cooldown stretches and take a break.

In short, Felix was obsessed with fighting in a way he hadn’t been before he’d disappeared. And Sylvain honestly thought it was pretty concerning.

Other than working this out, however, there wasn’t really all that much Sylvain could do about the situation. The closest he’d managed to get to Felix was when they were sparring, and that was...well, it was okay, but it wasn’t exactly fantastic. It wasn’t a conversation.

Which left one option, the option Sylvain hated using. “Hey, Ingrid, can we talk about something for a bit?”

Ingrid, sat at her desk in her bedroom, looked up at him with something he would definitely describe as suspicion on her face. Ouch. “What mess did you get into this time?” she asked. Definitely ouch.

“Nothing, nothing at all!” he said, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. “Well, maybe a couple of things, but that’s not what I’m here about, promise.”

“What are you here about, then?” she asked, moving to sit on her bed after pulling the chair out. She gestured to it, and Sylvain sat down.

“Felix,” he said, and Ingrid sighed. He could sympathise.

“You’ve been following him around like a lost puppy for weeks,” Ingrid said. He hadn’t realised he was quite so obvious, but he supposed both Ashe and Claude had picked up on it too...what did people think of him? “So what do you have to say about Felix, Sylvain?”

“I’m worried about him,” he said, and when Ingrid fixed him with a questioning look, he tried again. “Don’t you think there’s something up with him?”

“Well, he’s different, sure,” Ingrid said, “but I don’t think any of it’s a particular cause for concern. When we knew him before, we called him by a different name! Of course he’s going to be different now.”

“Not like that,” he said. That hadn’t even crossed his mind, honestly. “I more meant- I’m sure you’ve noticed how he trains more than...it’s not healthy to be that obsessed with fighting, getting stronger.”

“I don’t think it’s a problem,” Ingrid said with a shrug. “He’s always hated losing, he just used to cry about it a lot more. The Felix we’re seeing now is just...a more dedicated and mature version of the one we used to know.”

Sure, maybe, but that didn’t mean Felix had to be like that. “Don’t you think he could stand to be a little friendlier?” Sylvain asked. It just seemed wrong, somehow, that this Felix should be quite so different. He felt different in a bad way compared to the person Sylvain had known as a child, and maybe he just wanted to be Felix’s friend again, but…

“I want to be close to him again too, Sylvain,” Ingrid said. “But if he doesn’t want that, we should accept it. And who knows? Maybe you could stand to pick up some of the dedication he shows these days.”

“Mmm,” Sylvain said, scrabbling for a way to respond that wouldn’t tell Ingrid just how much her words stung. “Well, you know me. Haven’t cared about hard work a single day of my life and all that.”

Ingrid scoffed, and with that, the conversation was over. Sylvain excused himself very quickly, spitting out some excuse about going into the town that he knew he wasn’t going to follow up on because his mind was whirling.

Was he wrong to worry about Felix? It seemed concerning to him that Felix only cared about one thing. If all Felix did was study, he’d worry too. It wasn’t specifically because it was fighting, but it was also that- well, the Officers Academy was about training to be good leaders. And Felix wouldn’t even hold a conversation with someone he was fighting, let alone someone he was meant to be friends with.

Sylvain just wished Felix had the time for more than one thing. But did that just mean he was...jealous? Jealous that Felix had more time for his sword than for him? Jealous, or just frustrated that one of his childhood best friends would no longer give him the time of day?

And if he was just jealous, just frustrated, had he been wrong all along? Was Felix actually fine, and just far more grown up than Sylvain had expected? Was he looking for something wrong when there was nothing because he was just searching for a reason Felix had brushed him off for so long?

Actually, scratch the whole not going into town thing. He needed a distraction.

* * *

A month later, however, Sylvain’s suspicions were proved right. In the intervening time, he’d tried to pay less attention to Felix, and in doing so, Felix had practically disappeared from his life even more than before.

But it was for the best. Someone like Felix, dedicated to his own self improvement, didn’t need someone like Sylvain dragging his reputation down.

It was impossible for them to avoid each other, however, when the Professor paired them in a sparring match. Naturally, Sylvain was losing. Because the new Felix didn’t lose.

“Take it seriously, Sylvain!” Felix complained. Sylvain could see him getting more worked up by the second. He wondered if Felix knew just how attractive he was when he was angry like this, sword in hand, deadly and dangerous. How much Sylvain missed him with every inch of his body. “I know this is just a game for you. But out there- out there-”

Felix stopped, letting out a frustrated sigh. And this, Sylvain recognised. Even if every movement Felix made in a battle had changed, even if fighting was no longer a game and he no longer cried if he lost to Dimitri (he didn’t tend to all that much anymore)...this was a Felix that Sylvain recognised.

“It’s okay, Felix,” he said, accompanying his words with a shrug. “It’s just a training match, and you’re better than me anyway.”

“It’s not okay,” came the immediate reply. “Your lancework is sloppy, and if you- oh, you know.” Sylvain knew; he’d heard the lecture from his father, from Ingrid, from Dimitri. But he also knew that, ever since Felix was young, there was nothing that frustrated him more than being unable to say what he meant.

“I’ll hear it from you,” he said, opening his arms just a little. “It’s fine, we have all the time in the world, so just take your time and use your words, okay?”

He expected Felix to go a little shy, brush him off like it didn’t matter and demand another match. That was what he tended to do these days. Deflect, push away, and get right back on what he wanted to be doing.

He had hoped, slightly privately, that the understanding gesture might help Felix open up. Might bridge the gap that had formed between them. He always told Felix to use his words when he was a kid; everyone had. It was a way of telling him that they wanted to hear what he had to say, even if it took three times as long for him to say it. So yeah, maybe he’d hoped for a good response.

Instead, the hair on Sylvain’s arms stood on end. A long, loud, violent sound filled the training grounds, and it took Sylvain a moment to realise the sound was coming from Felix. From Felix’s mouth, bared into a snarl.

The whole class stood stock still. Felix was stillest of all, his face frozen in a look Sylvain could only describe as pure anger.

And then the look fell, and Felix looked lost. For just a second, surprise took over his features. And, without saying another word, without even uttering a profanity to signal his distaste, he stormed out of the training grounds. If he’d been going any faster, Sylvain would have described it as running.

They all stood in silence for a moment. “Is anyone...going to go after him?” Ashe asked, his voice small. He sounded slightly afraid, and Ashe was never afraid of Felix.

Sylvain paused. He probably should, but Felix’s reaction was throwing him off. Just when he’d been so sure that this was a part of Felix he recognised, a part he could interact with in the same way he did in the past, he’d never been more wrong in his life. That reaction...Felix may as well have been a different person entirely.

“I’ll go and check he’s okay,” Mercedes offered. Sylvain felt a twinge of annoyance at how easily she stepped up to the task, how neither Dimitri nor Ingrid offered in her stead. Why was someone who’d known Felix for barely more than two months more suited to this than someone who had known him for years?

But he crushed the twinge of annoyance and just offered Mercedes a smile he hoped was encouraging. And then he tried not to think too much about what had happened for the rest of the class.

But even when he tried not to think about it, the truth was clear in his mind: he was right. Something was up with Felix, something had changed him. And now he knew that, he wanted to understand. Wanted to help the person who would make that lost expression, who would react in that way to something that seemed so innocent.

He just...well, knowing for sure that there was a problem didn’t change the issue he’d been having in the first place with getting Felix to actually talk to him. So, for lack of other methods, he went back to where he’d started.

“Hey, Felix. Spar with me?” he asked. Felix accepted with barely more than a grunt (he probably said “sure,” but who knew really) and then proceeded to completely trounce him, just as before.

“Seeing as you keep winning all the time,” he said, trying a slightly new tactic, “could you tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

“You’re too slow,” Felix said, and lunged at him for a second round. When Sylvain managed to regain his footing for long enough to get a strike of his own in, Felix continued. “Your strikes don’t have enough power.”

He threw Sylvain off, following up with a series of thrusts. “Your defense is weak,” he came in from the side, “and sloppy. Not responsive enough.” He went left, left again, and then right. Sylvain could barely keep up for long enough to even defend, let alone retaliate. Right, left, left, and then straight down the centre, leaving Sylvain off balance.

Felix went for a low sweep, shifting his body even closer to the ground, and caught Sylvain on the back of the knees. His stance buckled, leaving him tumbling to the ground. Felix stood over him and scoffed. “Train harder, Sylvain.”

Sylvain gave up on the ‘communication through sparring’ idea. Contrary to what people seemed to think, he didn’t actually like getting lectured by people on a daily basis. He knew he squandered his skills; he didn’t need everyone telling him that over and over again.

The problem was that Felix didn’t get any more communicative outside of training. If anything, he was quieter than he’d been before the incident in the training grounds. In the past, he’d been fond of raising objections to people’s statements in class. Now, the Professor would be lucky to get an answer out of him even if they called on him.

Felix continued to avoid the dining hall at the times anyone else was eating. Sylvain didn’t even know that was allowed, but apparently it was because it was definitely happening. He couldn’t find Felix in the woods, never saw Felix in the library or the baths or the cathedral. If he did ever see him, striking up conversation did nothing; Felix barely even cared to listen, let alone respond.

Sylvain would be lying if he said it didn’t sting. He’d had so much hope when he received Felix’s letter. What had happened between then and now? Why wouldn’t Felix just speak to him a little more? Why couldn’t he explain how Sylvain could at least do better? He knew better than to press Felix to say more, and he’d learn from that mistake. But it didn’t give him many other options.

So, for a while, the Felix problem fell to the back of his mind. Felix didn’t get any easier to find, and he couldn’t find out anything new in any of the things he’d already tried. The fact that he moved differently and hated being told to say more didn’t really tell Sylvain anything at all, which left him at a dead end. So he busied his time with a hundred other things and tried to ignore the ache in his chest whenever he saw Felix.

He wanted his friend back. He was starting to think he wouldn’t get what he wanted.

And that was how things stayed, until there was yet another rebellion in the Kingdom and it turned out that they were the ones who had to solve it. The whole Lonato incident left them all drained. It left Sylvain’s with a head full of responsibilities and feelings he absolutely did not want to have

So, to avoid all that, Sylvain didn’t go to bed when they got back from killing innocent citizens of Faerghus. He went to a pub in Garreg Mach’s town that knew him well enough but not too well and just did things that were uncontroversially assholeish. It was simpler than the Lonato thing. Simpler than seeing Ashe’s face as Felix struck down his adoptive father and carried on just like before.

But all good, simple things had to come to an end, and eventually the amount of money he spent buying drinks in the pub couldn’t keep him from being kicked out for the night. Calling it quits was easy from that point, since he’d been tired all along, so he made his way back up to the monastery. The guard on the gate knew him by now.

The monastery was almost completely deserted, so Sylvain was naturally surprised to see someone out at these hours. It must have been the early hours of the morning, given the slight waver to his vision and how late they’d returned from Gaspard territory in the first place.

It was so dark it was hard to tell who was there from shape alone, but Sylvain had said it before and he’d probably say it again: he could recognise Felix anywhere. And there was Felix, hair down from his usual bun, carrying a heap of blankets through the monastery in the dead of night. “Felix!” he called, keeping his voice down as much as he could.

Felix stopped, stock still, as if he were a deer caught by the hunter in stark moonlight. It was a little difficult to see in the darkness, but Sylvain could tell he was flushed bright red. “Sylvain. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, nothing much,” he said, trying desperately to force his slightly tipsy brain to put the pieces together. Why was Felix out here? Something to do with the blankets he was holding. Why was he carrying his blankets?

On second glance, they looked like the standard issue sheets and blankets for the Academy dorm beds, and Felix’s were damp. He was heading away from the dorms, which was...towards the pond. Okay. 

Well, it made sense - maybe Felix was having nightmares, and it wouldn’t be completely out of the ordinary for something like this to happen. Especially now Sylvain knew he was struggling with...something. Something he still hadn’t been able to work out. “Well, what are you standing here for?” Felix asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“I’ll come with you,” he said, taking a snap decision and purposefully looking away from the blankets. If Felix was embarrassed, Sylvain would give him no reason to be. “Can’t be out on our own after those threats from the Western Church and all, right?” Carefully, he added just the slightest lilt to his voice. He wasn’t drunk, but maybe it was better if Felix thought he was.

Felix paused. “Fine,” he said. “Just be quiet. It’s obscenely late for you to be out and if you wake anyone, I’m pinning all the blame on you.”

Sylvain chose not to mention that it was just as stupidly late for _him_ to be out. At least Felix had probably already slept a little. So he stayed quiet, walking the rest of the way to the pond with Felix and watching as he dunked the blankets in the still, dark water.

Then, Felix sat down without a word. If Sylvain was a quitting man, he’d give up right there. But he wasn’t, so he sat down right next to him; he’d take any chance he could get.

“Your funeral was really sad,” he said. Maybe he was drunker than he’d previously estimated. Felix looked at him, and the look on his face was so- Sylvain had to keep talking. He couldn’t keep looking at that face. “It was like...you were just a kid. I was just a kid. I was younger than Ashe, even, and-”

“Sylvain-”

“There was a coffin and everything, but we all knew it was empty. And Dimitri talked about you like you were this perfect, wonderful angel, even when everyone knew it wasn’t true because we all knew you. And your dad cried through half of it and spoke about the burdens of burying a child, but he wasn’t even burying you, and-”

He stopped. He didn’t know why he’d started in the first place. Didn’t know where the thoughts had come from. He’d never mentioned the service to anyone else.

“What was the point of telling me that?” Felix asked.

Sylvain shrugged. He didn’t think there was much of a point. He hadn’t really thought it through anyway. He let the conversation lapse into silence for a few minutes, desperately trying to work out how to salvage it this time. Who knew if he’d get a chance like this again?

“I guess I meant...don’t be a stranger, okay?” He tried to catch Felix’s eyes, though he didn’t quite know why; Felix had always hated making eye contact with people, and he avoided it now too.

“I hate it when people treat me like some kind of walking corpse,” Felix grumbled. “I’m alive, but all anyone sees is someone who used to be dead. I was never dead.”

He was to everyone else, but, lacking in tact though he often was, Sylvain knew enough to keep his mouth shut on that one. It wouldn’t help. “I don’t care if you were dead or not,” he said. He did care, but that wasn’t the point. “I just want to get to know you again. Is that too much?”

“You sound like you’re talking to one of your stupid girls.” Felix’s voice sounded tight, the way it used to when he was on the verge of tears. This time, tears didn’t come.

“I’d never talk to you like that.” And he hoped Felix knew that. He hoped Felix didn’t seriously think that he’d ever think of him as just another one of the girls he didn’t even like. His words were sincere, even if they weren’t strictly true. He wanted to fix this, even if he didn’t know what had broken in the first place.

Felix didn’t reply. But that was okay, because he didn’t frown either. They just sat in silence for a little while longer, until Felix removed his blankets from the pond. “I’m going to bed,” he said, and Sylvain decided not to point out that, actually, he had nothing to sleep on.

They walked back to the dormitories together. When Sylvain wished Felix goodnight, he didn’t reply, but he did hesitate, so Sylvain counted that as a success of sorts. He went to bed knowing he’d be completely exhausted the following day, but he absolutely didn’t care. Any sleep he’d lost was worth it.

He was absolutely sure he’d made progress. He’d had an actual conversation with Felix! A real one, where Felix had spoken in full sentences and talked about his feelings and everything. It was definitely progress. And Felix wanted him to stop treating him like the time lost between them was anything special.

Sylvain knew there was more to it than that, because things had changed in the intervening years. To everyone else, Felix _had_ been dead, and that was important. But if Felix wanted to ignore that? Sylvain was happy to at least play along.

Beyond all the little details, though, the point was that Felix was clearly willing to open up if Sylvain made the right moves. Which meant he just had to keep moving until he found things that worked.

A few days later, Sylvain was sat in his room pretending not to study when he heard footsteps on the stairs. The door that opened wasn’t Dimitri’s; Felix was in his room. Finally. Sylvain definitely hadn’t been waiting for the opportunity to strike up another conversation somewhere they’d definitely be alone.

He waited a few minutes, and when Felix didn’t leave his bedroom, Sylvain decided to head over. This wasn’t something unusual; when they were kids, if they were staying in the same castle for whatever reason, they’d drop in on each other unannounced. The presence of the other was always, always welcome; Sylvain had spent many hours sat on Felix’s bed in Fhirdiad’s castle with his knees tucked up to his chest, telling Felix tales of Gautier territory.

They were good memories, and Sylvain wanted to make more of them. At least, that was what he was thinking of when he turned the doorknob to Felix’s room, walking in without even knocking.

Before he could even fully register what was going on, Sylvain was flat on his back in the hallway. His head hit the floor with a crack and he definitely saw white for a moment or two. Ouch.

Felix retreated back within his room quickly, but Sylvain knew what he heard. Deep from Felix’s chest, he heard a growl. He knew it. Just like the snarl, but deeper. Somehow more dangerous, more frightening when backed up with the force that had literally knocked him over. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Felix said. And Sylvain knew he wasn’t imagining the heavy reality in his voice when he said “I could have thought you were an intruder rather than an idiot. I could have killed you.”

Sylvain laughed and pretended he didn’t feel a chill run up his spine at Felix’s words. “So, can I come in?” he asked, shooting Felix a smile and sitting upright. His head really fucking hurt. He was going to have to get someone to check him for a concussion, and hey, wouldn’t that be an embarrassing injury to explain? ‘Felix tried to kill me because I didn’t knock.’

“No,” Felix said, and shut the door in Sylvain’s face. But it remained open just long enough for Sylvain to see the utterly incomprehensible look on Felix’s face. If he hadn’t known Felix better, he would have called it fear.

He didn’t see Felix much for the next month and a half. If he’d thought Felix was avoiding him before, he hadn’t quite realised what Felix committing to avoiding someone actually looked like. Where before Felix had been noticeably absent from most communal spaces in the monastery, now…

Well, Felix stopped going to the semi-compulsory training sessions the Professor put on. He was taken off his weekly stable cleaning chore with Sylvain, and Sylvain even stopped seeing him in the hallways. Felix also moved to a different seat in the classroom so he was no longer anywhere near Sylvain. Sylvain was tempted, briefly, to move next to him, but (unlike Felix) he wasn’t enough of a dick to break the sacred informal law of assigned seating.

Sylvain tried not to lose hope, because it wasn’t like he hadn’t fucked up before, but…

Felix wasn’t talking to him. Then Miklan stole the lance. Then the Church decided to send their class against him at his father’s request, airing it out for everyone to see. Then Miklan died. And then...well. Sylvain wrapped the lance up in cloth, placed it in the corner of his room, and tried not to see black tendrils emerging from it every time his eyes weren’t fixed directly on it.

That night, there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” he called, expecting Ingrid to be there to tell him to sleep and offer him words of condolence. Words that would definitely be insufficient, because how were you even meant to respond to the death of someone like Miklan?

It was not Ingrid. Felix opened the door silently and closed it quickly behind him. Then he sat cross-legged on the floor, and didn’t say a word. Sylvain felt the edge of fear he felt with the lance in his presence ease just a little.

“I don’t get it,” he said. Felix looked up at him, and when he stopped, Sylvain only received a nod to signal he could continue. “He knew the lance would hurt him. He snatched it from me when I was younger, once; Father wanted me to train with it, learn it, and when he took it away he ended up with burns all over his hands.” Sylvain had ‘accidentally tripped’ that evening, landing hands first in the fireplace.

“He was good with a lance. Better than me, anyway. Always was. He didn’t need the Lance of Ruin to prove anything at all, it was such a stupid move, but he- damn him, he never just took the easy option.” Miklan could do plenty of things without the Lance, and yet...things had still turned out like this.

“And now he’s just gone and left all his men to deal with the rest of...I don’t know. That.” Sylvain gestured at the air. Felix nodded. “He never knew how to clean up his messes. Got me into so much trouble as a kid for that, because of course it would be the little kid who made the mess. And when I got older, and he started to get blamed more because I had the stupid fucking Crest, I knew that I had to be the one to clear up.

“But I can’t clear up the royally huge mess he’s left this time, and- Goddess, I hate the bastard so much. I wish I just had a good reason to hate him, because he was right. He was always fucking right. He deserved the Crest, and even if he didn’t, Crests never brought a good thing to my family. Neither did the Lance. I can’t fault him for stealing it.”

He opened his mouth to say some other inane thing about a man who was now dead and gone and couldn’t care what he said - and wouldn’t have cared, why should he have cared? All Sylvain had ever done for him was ruin his life. But before he could say a word, Felix opened his mouth for the first time since entering the room.

“Did Miklan used to hurt you?”

At first, the words didn’t register. He’d never heard them before. Not in that order, anyway. All those years, and no one had ever asked. “No,” he said. He didn’t know why he said it. It was a lie. Telling a lie no longer had any benefits, because it wasn’t like Miklan could hurt him for telling the truth.

“I don’t believe you,” Felix said. “When you were a kid, you- actually, no- Sylvain, are you clumsy?”

“Yeah,” he answered, half on impulse. He wasn’t clumsy. He just got hurt a lot. Always had. “I’ve always been clumsy, Felix. Remember when we were kids, and-”

“Yes, I do,” Felix said. “A string of accidents. You broke your arm falling out of a tree, you got pneumonia when you fell in an uncovered well while playing hide and seek, you broke a leg when you fell down the stairs. You were clumsy to a fault.

“But I watch you fight now. I’ve seen the way you are here. We’ve been here months, and you’ve never once been in any kind of accident. You don’t trip, don’t fall, you don’t even stumble. You’re reckless, not graceless. And you didn’t used to be so reckless when we were kids.”

Sylvain paused. Felix, who he was hearing speak for the longest time since...well, since everything, didn’t let up. “So tell me, Sylvain, and tell me the truth this time. Did Miklan used to hurt you when we were young?” 

“Yeah,” he managed, feeling slightly like he was choking (and it was a more familiar feeling than he wanted to admit). “Yeah, he did.” Felix nodded, his face carefully composed but showing what Sylvain imagined was only a fraction of his anger. “It all came to a head after the Tragedy, I guess. He tried to kill me. Seriously, that time. He was already a disgrace and all, he always was, but after that, my father made quick work of getting rid of him. The rest...well, you saw it today.”

Felix paused for a moment. And then he...he didn’t say anything about what Sylvain had just admitted to. Didn’t try to guess how Sylvain was feeling. Didn’t try to make everything better with stupid words that had never helped anything or anyone. 

“Come on,” Felix said. Sylvain looked at him, a question forming in his throat that he didn’t even think he was capable of voicing. Felix patted the ground next to him. “Down here.” Sylvain did as Felix asked, and after a few minutes of sitting in silence, he took a risk and slowly moved to lean his head against Felix’s shoulder.

Felix didn’t object, didn’t even move away. So they sat there like that, Felix cross legged on Sylvain’s bedroom floor, in complete silence. It was nice. It helped. The pressure leaking into his brain from all sides ever so slowly ebbed away, and he could breathe again.

Sylvain wasn’t sure if he dreamed or imagined Felix’s fingers running through his hair, but it felt real enough, so he clung on to the memory, fake or not. It was nice.


	3. Ebb and Flow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: character having a panic attack, insensitive discussions surrounding mental illness, a reference towards self harm, mild violence + injury

After that, Felix was around a lot more. The next evening, Sylvain sat down to eat dinner and, two minutes later, Felix sat down next to him. Sylvain tried not to stare. Clearly he failed, because after a few seconds of them both sitting in silence, Felix looked up. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Sylvain said with a smile, returning to his food. “I haven’t seen you in here before.”

“I eat,” Felix replied. When Sylvain looked over at his plate, his smile widened. Felix hadn’t changed a bit; not a vegetable in sight. “Just not here. Usually.”

“That makes sense,” Sylvain said, even though it didn’t. “The food is good. The company can be...variable, depending on who decides to impose themselves on you.”

“That’s why I’m usually not here,” Felix said. Sylvain, honestly, didn’t blame him. He would be a much happier man if he had never shared a meal with Hubert, Lorenz, and Ferdinand at the same time. It was a trial.

“Smart,” he said, and they lapsed into comfortable silence. Sylvain didn’t normally...silence wasn’t his default setting, but it seemed to be Felix’s preferred one, so he could deal with that. Especially considering the tiny spark of warmth in his chest that got a little brighter every time he thought of Felix breaking his normal routine to spend time with him.

It wasn’t just a one off thing, either. It usually wasn’t every day, and it wasn’t in a pattern Sylvain could predict or map out at all, but every so often, Felix would join him for a meal. Sparring together resumed as well, though Sylvain still couldn’t work out how to win.

It was good, but things still didn’t quite fit together on occasion and, as he always did, Sylvain tended to fuck up a bit more than he got things right.

One time was when they trained together; it was a normal part of their sort of routine with each other, and sparring, well...sparring sometimes tread the line between getting up in each others’ faces and getting too close. Sylvain didn’t often get one up on Felix, but at one point he did manage to get several strikes going. He forced Felix to back up once, and then once more, and, relishing the feeling of pushing Felix into a corner for once, pushed ever further.

Sylvain wasn’t quite sure what happened next. He never was, really, and Felix never wanted to talk about this stuff when it happened. But he knew that he heard Felix growl at him. He recognised the way Felix looked at him with that cornered look in his eyes. Sylvain backed up three steps and then Felix proceeded to trounce him. They didn’t talk about it afterwards, but Felix excused himself from training pretty quickly.

Another time came when they were in class. Felix had moved back to sit relatively near Sylvain, which suited him just fine. Normally they didn’t even interact in class, because Felix usually looked like he was concentrating very hard and Sylvain didn’t think it was fair to inflict his lack of interest on him.

Sometimes, though, the Professor got them to work in pairs or groups. There were an odd number of students in the class, so Felix usually ended up on his own. This time, Sylvain decided to try his luck and said he’d pair off with Felix.

“No,” Felix snapped, and Sylvain was glad that embarrassment wasn’t really an emotion he experienced, because he’d be bright red if he did. “I work on my own.”

On the whole, the instance looked like Felix’s usual crabbiness - another reason Sylvain wasn’t too embarrassed by the whole incident, because everyone would see it as him being nice. But there was a little hint of...Sylvain didn’t know. There was a look in Felix’s eyes he didn’t like. A furrow to his brow he wished wasn’t there.

He looked so tense, and Sylvain just wished he could see Felix’s boundaries before he crossed them and made his life more difficult. It would make everything about this so much easier to navigate.

There were moments like those, but there were also good moments. One evening, when they were eating dinner together, Felix asked Sylvain for help with an assignment.

“You just want a hand with it?” he asked, and Felix nodded. It wasn’t like him to ask for help, but Sylvain tried not to absolutely jump at the chance to lend a hand. Felix, relying on him...well, he wasn’t going to draw attention to it. Felix could get shy about it. Or pissed. Probably the latter.

“I’m a bit behind,” he admitted. “There was only so much I could catch up on, so my tutors had to skim over things they saw as less important.”

“...and they decided that calculating velocity was unimportant?” Sylvain asked, trying and failing to keep disbelief from entering his tone.

Felix shrugged. “I mostly worked on the things I was most interested in,” he said. “It was the only way to really know anything well enough to get into the Academy.”

“Well, velocity isn’t that interesting, so I don’t blame you,” Sylvain replied. “Do you want to do it when we’ve finished eating?”

Felix nodded. “You can- you can come into my room. So long as you don’t touch anything.”

“Can I touch the floor?” he asked with a grin. Felix threw a piece of potato at him across the table, and Sylvain wanted to shout for joy.

But of course it didn’t last, because Sylvain didn’t get to have any form of relationship without corrupting it somehow. He should have known things would all go wrong.

A few weeks later, when everything had been going perfectly fine minus the whole kidnapped students thing, there was a knock on Sylvain’s door late at night. “Come in!” he called, pushing the history of Sreng book he definitely wasn’t putting any effort into reading under his pillow just before Felix entered the room. “Ah, Felix, make yourself comfortable.”

Felix did so, settling himself down on Sylvain’s bedroom floor. Sylvain didn’t know what was wrong with the chair, but okay. He waited for a few minutes, knowing that Felix was probably working his way up to saying something; he was right. “Take me seriously when I say this,” Felix started.

“Of course,” Sylvain said, because it was easy to take Felix seriously. Felix’s sense of humour was horrendous, so Sylvain tended to just assume that he wasn’t going to make any jokes.

“I think there’s something wrong with Dimitri,” Felix said, and Sylvain’s blood ran cold slightly. Yeah, that was serious.

“Why?” Sylvain asked. Dimitri did plenty of things, but none of them particularly stood out as concerning...overeager, perhaps, but other than that he couldn’t think of anything.

“I can- the walls are thin, right?” Felix said. Sylvain nodded in agreement, and now he knew where this was going. “Dimitri doesn’t sleep much. Or well.” The fact that Felix was awake to hear this said something in itself, but Sylvain didn’t call him out on it; he’d heard it once or twice himself. “He’s...I hear things from his room sometimes. When he talks in his sleep.”

Sylvain nodded. He knew that Dimitri had nightmares, of course, because knowing as much was unavoidable when you shared a wall with him. “Are you worried about him?” he asked. That was the only reason he could think of why Felix would even come to him about this.

Felix shook his head. “I’m not,” he said. Sylvain made a questioning sound, trying to prompt him to continue. He would have thought...well, it made sense that Felix would worry about Dimitri. A lot of people had in the wake of the Tragedy, and Felix and Dimitri used to be close. “I’m worried about other people.”

“Why?” he asked again. “I’ve never heard what he says in his sleep.”

“The things he says, they’re not calls for help. He’s not begging to some shadowy figure in a nightmare. I’m not even sure he’s asleep when he says the things I hear, and they’re- they’re threats.” Felix paused again, leaving Sylvain to process what he’d said. “And other than that, I just- I don’t know. There’s something...off about him. Something not right, like it’s not really him or he’s not really there and-”

“Felix,” Sylvain said, keeping his voice as even and calm as possible. Felix seemed genuinely distressed, and he’d never seen him run his mouth quite like this before. This was important to him. “I get it, you’re worried about him. But Dimitri has been through a lot, and he’s changed in a lot of ways that you’ve never seen before. Really, though, he’s doing so much better than he was after-” After the Tragedy. After Felix died.

“I know, I-”

“It’s okay,” he said, trying to keep Felix from talking himself down another hole. “You don’t need to worry about him, alright? He’s got all of us. Dedue, as well, and let me tell you I think that man might actually be a saint-”

“Sylvain, I know,” Felix said, and Sylvain could hear the annoyance in his tone. Okay, maybe he misread slightly. “I know I wasn’t there. I know I was dead, that you all missed me, that I missed everything about all of you somehow growing up, that I don’t know any of you anymore because you all changed so damn much. I know, okay? You don’t have to explain it all to me all over again.”

“Felix…” Sylvain tried to suppress that frustrated feeling in his chest. He really did. But seeing Felix get so angry at him just for trying to help? “I know we’ve all changed a bit, I’m not blaming you for that. But cut me some slack; you’re the one who’s changed the most, and I’m doing my best.”

Felix stopped. His whole body just froze; Sylvain had barely even noticed Felix’s subtle, constant movement until then. And even when Felix avoided any eye contact, Sylvain could identify the lost look on his face. It was the look he always got when something went wrong. The lost, slightly frightened look, like the whole world had come to a halt and Felix was left suspended over a chasm.

It was the look Sylvain never, ever wanted to see. The one he always wanted to avoid even happening in the first place. “Fuck, Felix, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound like that, okay?” Felix didn’t move, didn’t look up. “Goddess, I just- what happened? What can I do to help?” He hated seeing Felix like this. He felt so helpless.

Felix didn’t say anything at first. His hands - already balled into fists - tightened further, but he soon gave up on that, moving to worrying the fabric of his shirt sleeves in a manner Sylvain would almost call desperate.

He opened his mouth. “I- you- there’s-” He closed his mouth and sucked in a deep breath. Let it out. Sucked in another one. Let it out. Breathed in, opened his mouth, and closed it again, shaking his head.

Sylvain knew better than to prompt him for anything else, so he waited in silence to see if Felix would be able to manage even the smallest response. Even if it was just that he didn’t want to talk about it. That would be fine, he just...needed something to go off of.

But the words didn’t come. Felix sat in silence, carefully measuring his breathing (Sylvain knew this because he could count each breath down to the second within a few cycles). And then he stood up without another word and left the room, not even closing the door behind him before he vanished back down the corridor.

Sylvain let out a shaky sigh. So much for that, then.

He’d expected Felix to close himself off again, but in the end, very little changed. They fell back into their rhythm as if nothing had happened - Felix ate meals with him sometimes, sparred with him sometimes, talked to him sometimes.

But at the same time, things were different. Felix was different again, as if he hadn’t been different enough in the first place. It was as if the boundaries Felix had drawn up for himself were easier to cross without noticing. He was on edge at everything, skittish all the time. A little quieter than he had been, if that was even possible.

Felix skipped a class or two, and on those days he never came to a meal with Sylvain. He didn’t show up to training, either, which was probably an even more heinous crime to Felix than skipping class was. It was a noticeable change, and it was worrying.

“Hey, Fe, is everything okay?” he asked during class one afternoon. Felix was sitting right at the edge of the bench, his hand clenched around his pen. He hadn’t written in about five minutes, instead just staring at the page.

Felix jumped about a foot in the air, half his books clattering to the ground. Everyone turned round, and Felix tensed up even further. Sylvain idly observed that Felix looked a little bit like a startled cat, but he decided that maybe now wasn’t the best time to point it out.

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped. “My name is Felix, Sylvain. I’m sure it’s not beyond you to put in the effort to say two syllables instead of one?”

Sylvain didn’t say anything in response other than shooting Felix his usual, insincere apology. He didn’t know why he did it; maybe because he was in front of everyone else in the class, maybe because Felix’s words were hurtful and he didn’t feel like being genuine. Either way, Felix’s posture tensed more and his grip around his pen tightened even further.

That evening, Felix didn’t show up to eat dinner with Sylvain, but he hadn’t really been expecting him to. The time they spent together was diminishing more by the day, and Sylvain worried it would only be a matter of time before it disappeared entirely.

He sat in his room that evening, stewing. He considered going out into the town, getting someone hanging off his every word, but he couldn’t bring himself to. It wouldn’t help; it never did. While he was sat there sulking and turning the events over in his mind, there was a knock on the door.

“Is it okay if we come in, Sylvain?” Dimitri asked, standing in the doorway. Just behind him stood Ingrid.

“Yeah, of course, make yourself comfortable,” he said, and they both stood there awkwardly until Sylvain took the chair, leaving the two of them to perch on the very edge of his bed. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from two of my oldest, dearest friends?” He leaned back in his chair as he spoke, noting the slight creak in the legs as he did so.

“You can cut out the poetics, Sylvain,” Ingrid said, but she didn’t sound all that annoyed. She pushed her hair back behind her ears before returning her hands to a tightly folded position in her lap. “We’re, uh, here about Felix."

“You spend more time with him than most,” Dimitri explained. “And, well, lately he’s seemed a little-”

“On edge?” Sylvain suggested.

“More like terrified,” Ingrid said. Fair. “At least, that’s how he seems to me. The other day, I asked him if he needed notes from a class he’d missed, and he practically ran away from me. I don’t...I don’t understand. Felix was never like this before.”

Dimitri nodded, and Sylvain noticed, idly, that he looked very tired. “And as we said, you probably know him better than us. So is there anything, anything at all, that we can do to help him?”

Sylvain sighed. He wished he knew. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s worse lately.” And probably his fault, too. Things had gotten worse since he’d spoken to Felix about Dimitri, and he didn’t know why. Didn’t know how to get Felix to accept that apology he’d given for saying the wrong thing.

“Is there really nothing we can do?” Ingrid asked. “Anything at all, even if it’s things to lessen how he’s feeling, rather than prevent it entirely.”

“I guess…” He supposed he did know Felix relatively well. He’d spent moons trying to work out what was going on, and that had to be good for something. “Felix likes having his personal space,” he said. “He doesn’t like it when people enter that space without him inviting it. He doesn’t mind talking to people, but at the same time, he communicates how he wants. And he absolutely hates being told to do things differently.”

“Like in the training grounds,” Dimitri recalled, and Sylvain nodded.

“And when stuff goes wrong, he hates talking about it,” he said. “When I’ve noticed strange things happen around him, he doesn’t talk about it, and he’ll pretend it didn’t happen if I bring it up. He just wants- I guess he just wants to carry on like everything is normal, even when it isn’t.”

There were some other things. Like how Felix found speaking about himself even harder than before and that he barely ate any vegetables. There was how he now moved close to the ground, sweated through the sheets when he had nightmares, and hated talking about the missing time. There were the...the animalistic noises he made when he was pushed too far out of his comfort zone, the way he had suffered something Sylvain probably wouldn’t understand even if he was told.

But saying those things felt wrong. They felt like observations Sylvain had made that, if said, wouldn’t do anything to help Felix do exactly what he wanted; to move on with his life. They were things Sylvain had seen when Felix was most vulnerable, and sharing them didn’t feel fair, even with people who had, at one time, known Felix better than anyone else in the world.

Dimitri and Ingrid thanked him, slightly stiff and falling back on manners ingrained when they were all children. There was no protocol for a conversation like this one, so they muddled through what they could and then filed out to continue with their lives. Sylvain hoped that the advice would help even a little with making Felix feel less tense.

Things didn’t change much from there, but they changed enough that Sylvain noticed an improvement in Felix’s mood. He still skipped things, was still a little absent and a little tense, but he started to see a bit more of him. They went back to eating a meal together most days, and their sparring sessions resumed. Once or twice, Felix came to his bedroom in the evening to do work on some assignments.

It was a good feeling to match all the fear and worries from the past few weeks. An improvement Sylvain sorely needed to see after worrying that maybe he’d made Felix’s life worse in an attempt to make it better.

On one of the evenings when Felix was sat cross legged on Sylvain’s bedroom floor, scrawling page after page of calculations that could definitely be more efficient, he seemed a little more fidgety than normal. He kept tapping his pen against the page, rocking from left to right, staring out of the window. Finally, he spoke. “Why do you try?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Sylvain asked. “I’ve never tried at anything in my life, Felix, that’s quite an accusation.”

Felix snorted. “I meant with me, idiot,” he said. “Why bother? Everyone else gave up.”

They hadn’t given up, Sylvain knew. The conversation he’d had with Dimitri and Ingrid about how they could help Felix was proof enough of that; it was more that Felix made it very, very difficult for anyone to get close. But saying that wouldn’t help. “Why not?” he asked. “We’re friends, Felix.”

“We don’t have to be,” Felix said. He was giving him an out. Perhaps that was what he’d been doing all along; pushing him away so he didn’t feel like he had to care.

“If I wasn’t your friend,” Sylvain said, leaning over to look at the papers spread out in front of Felix, “then there wouldn’t be anyone around to tell you that four plus seven is eleven, not ten.”

Felix scowled and looked down at the books before scratching out...half a page of numbers. Ouch. “I should be able to do that myself,” he said. “I should be able to do all of this on my own. And I will be able to, if you want to go back to chasing girls instead.”

“I do both,” he said, but Felix was sort of right. When he was waiting to spend time with Felix in the evenings, he didn’t go out to the town. There were plenty of lovely women who would gladly receive his attention up at the monastery, but he perhaps wasn’t dedicating all his time to women these days. “I thought you wanted me to go after women less.”

“Yes,” Felix said. His tone said ‘but that’s a given’ and, well, fair enough. “But that doesn’t need to be on my account. You don’t need to try to...help.”

It was then that Sylvain realised what was going on here. Felix was trying to talk about his feelings. And Sylvain would jump for joy if he hadn’t been pretty sure that such an action would almost definitely just scare Felix off. “I want to,” he said. “Because we’re friends.”

Felix nodded, and they lapsed into silence for a while, Felix staring resolutely at his calculations. He only wrote a couple of numbers before starting again. “Everything is so loud and close,” he said. “Every sound is like…” he shook his head. “It makes it hard to think. Hard to talk.”

“Just tell me when I need to shut up, then,” Sylvain said, offering up a smile.

Felix shook his head. “It’s not you,” he said, and Sylvain tried not to be too pleased by that. “It can be everyone talking at once. It can be no one talking at all, or the sound of the Professor’s foot tapping the ground. I can’t control it, so...I don’t know. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Sylvain said. “I could- actually take notes when you have to leave class, if that would help.”

“It would,” Felix said, thankfully ignoring the fact that Sylvain had just admitted that he did not, in fact, take notes in class. Which was sort of the whole point of being there. “Thanks. There are- other things too. But I don’t know how to explain, so I’ll leave it at that.”

“Got it,” Sylvain said, trying not to smile too brightly at such a serious conversation. He knew this was difficult for Felix, so the fact that he’d even tried meant a whole lot. “You didn’t have to talk about it. I’m glad you did, though. Because we’re friends.”

“Yeah,” Felix said, a small smile sneaking onto his face. “Friends.”

Things got a little easier between him and Felix after that, but they weren’t always perfect. Felix still skipped things, Sylvain sometimes overstepped his boundaries, but they talked a little more about it. Never anything like Felix telling him what was wrong and what could help again, but they’d made a start. Sylvain breathed a little easier around him, even if that sometimes led to Felix getting overwhelmed.

Sylvain got to see Felix far more in his comfort zone. He saw things that, a few moons or even weeks before, he didn’t think Felix would let him see. One afternoon, he was looking for Felix when they were both done with lessons for the day, and when he rounded the corner on hearing Felix’s voice, he was...surprised with what he saw.

Felix was crouched on the ground, crooning at several of the monastery’s cats. Next to him were Annette and Ashe, each armed with a plate of fish from the dining hall. For a moment, Sylvain just stood and contemplated the sight. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Felix willingly spending time with other people before; at least not when there weren’t swords involved.

When Felix looked up, Sylvain half expected him to jump, to walk away and completely deny that he’d been spotted scratching a cat behind the ears. But he didn’t. Instead, he...smiled. “Sylvain,” he greeted, “come over and help. They’re friendly.”

Sylvain wasn’t the biggest fan of cats in the world, but he wasn’t going to say no to Felix’s soft smile as one of the cats rolled over and showed their belly to him. He approached, taking a couple of fish from a basket and handing them to Ashe.

They stayed like that for a while, Sylvain mostly just listening as Ashe, Annette, and Felix chatted together about the cats. “This one’s getting a little fat, haha,” Ashe said, gently poking the stomach of a black cat.

“Don’t poke her!” Annette exclaimed immediately. “She could be fat because she’s pregnant, and then you might be hurting the kittens.” Ashe gasped and withdrew his hands, looking at the cat with a slightly scared look on his face.

“I can check,” Felix said, gently nudging Ashe’s frozen hands away. He lowered his head to the cat’s belly, shushing her as he did so. “Yeah, she’s pregnant.” Sylvain grinned at the almost tender look on his face. It was nice to see.

“So what did you want me for?” Felix asked, once the fish was all gone and the cats had curled up in the sunlight. Ashe and Annette left quickly, carrying the empty basket and dish with them.

“I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come to town with me,” he said, leaning back on his heels slightly. He wasn’t expecting Felix to say yes, but it was worth asking.

Felix pulled a face at him. “I don’t want to go with you just to watch you chat up women for an evening,” he said. Which, fair, that was exactly what Sylvain had been planning.

“You can join in, if you like,” he said with a grin.

Felix shook his head. “You can do what you like, if you must be like _that_ ,” he said, “but I’m not interested in that.” Sylvain opened his mouth to suggest something to encourage him, but Felix stopped him. “I’m not interested in...women.”

Oh, that made sense. “Sure,” he said. “You could chat up some men instead, you know. I’m sure you’d have plenty of success.”

In response, Felix flushed bright pink. Cute. “I think I’ll pass,” he said, his voice a little tight. So Sylvain changed the subject, and the conversation moved to other things (cats, mostly).

It was a nice moment. It was sort of...encouraging, he supposed, that he could have a conversation like that with Felix. That he could say the wrong thing, make a slightly incorrect step, and Felix wouldn’t react badly. Their friendship didn’t fall apart, and everything was just fine.

Nothing big or in any way catastrophic happened for a while. The world outside kept moving, and sometimes some really concerning things happened, but on the whole they were okay. That was, until Felix took an axe strike from Edelgard straight to the waist in a low scale practise skirmish in the weeks leading to the mock battle at Gronder Field.

Except that was fine too, because it was just that; a practise for the mock battle. Felix was hurried away and the rest of the Lions took the advantage he’d given them and cut through to victory. By the time Sylvain sprinted up the stairs to the infirmary, taking them three at a time, Manuela was already nearly done.

“And there you are,” she said, removing her hands from where they blocked Sylvain’s view of Felix’s side. The fabric was still stained with blood and dirt, but the skin underneath had healed a lot, if not completely. “Just take this,” she continued, rummaging through a cabinet to produce a vial Sylvain knew was filled with a concoction to help replenish blood, “and you’ll be back on your feet in no time. It’s a wonder what the power of a little magic and medicine can do!”

She held out the potion to Felix, and that was when Sylvain realised that something, somewhere, had gone wrong. Felix had tensed up from head to foot, and his eyes looked beyond Manuela as he shook his head, pushing the glass bottle away.

Manuela clearly hadn’t noticed what was going on— and how could she? She didn’t know Felix— as she laughed before handing it to him again. “There’s no need for pride, Felix,” she said. “We all lose blood when we get hit by a weapon in battle. You can be back on your training regimen soon enough, so long as you take this.”

Felix shook his head, and Sylvain realised, looking at how short the gap between his chest rising and falling was, that they’d hit upon another one of those things that set Felix off; some hidden experience he couldn’t put into words.

But there was no time to wonder what it could mean for the sake of his own curiosity. He had to do something. “Please don’t worry about it, Professor Manuela,” he said, pouring every ounce of charm he could summon at a time like this into a smile. “I’ll help Felix back to his room and make sure nothing gets infected or anything.”

Manuela frowned, looking between him and Felix, before she eventually sighed and nodded. “That’s fine,” she said. “Take the concoction with you, Felix, and if you feel up to taking it or not then please do. Just bring the bottle back, whatever you decide to do with it.”

Now, clearly, she’d worked out that something was wrong; her tone was even, her words far less chiding than before. Despite her efforts, Felix didn’t even nod, instead simply staring at the vial Manuela left next to the bed. Sylvain picked it up and pocketed it.

“Hey, Felix,” he said, knowing better than to attempt to catch Felix’s eyes, instead fixing his gaze on his shoulder. “Do you need a hand standing up?”

Felix shook his head and stood, but he seemed shaky on his feet. Manuela shot Sylvain another concerned look, but he just shook his head and she stepped away, out of Felix’s path but still in his eyeline. “Right, Felix, we’re going back to your room, is that okay?” he asked. Felix nodded. “Can you walk?”

Felix froze again, but after a moment he nodded. It was slow going; he was unsteady and far less aware than he’d been after the actual injury. He said he didn’t need help walking, but he leaned heavily on every wall as they walked. Sylvain tried to give him as much space as possible without straying too far, just in case he fell.

Fortunately, anyone they passed didn’t choose to stop and comment on either of them. Sylvain was glad for that, at least, but he hoped no one brought it up at another time; Felix really didn’t need to be scrutinised over this. He was clearly having a hard enough time over it already.

By the time they reached Felix’s room, his breathing rate hadn’t slowed, and he was swaying even more on his feet. Sylvain left Felix to open the door to his own bedroom, knowing that even if Felix was out of it - and maybe especially so - he wouldn’t like it if he intruded on his space.

Felix opened the door, and paused for a moment on the threshold, leaning heavily on the doorframe. “Floor or bed?” Sylvain asked, remembering all the times he’d seen Felix favour somewhere low to the ground.

He’d guessed right, as Felix immediately pointed towards the floor. Carefully, and keeping his movements slow and steady, Sylvain gathered up the blankets on Felix’s bed and placed them on the floor. He wasn’t exactly sure how Felix wanted them to be arranged, and a small part of Sylvain’s brain yelled at him for putting (clean! Tidy!) blankets on the floor in a heap, but he tried to get it done as quickly as possible.

Felix was clearly exhausted, and practically collapsed on the blankets the moment Sylvain stepped back. “Should I close the door?” Sylvain asked. Felix paused. “Is it okay if I stay?” Felix nodded once, and then again, so Sylvain shut the door and joined Felix by sitting on the floor just next to the pile of blankets.

In the two seconds Sylvain had turned away to close the door, Felix’s breathing had quickened again. “Felix?” he asked. Felix screwed his eyes tightly shut and shook his head, pulling his knees up to his chest. Shit. “Anything I can do?” In response, Felix only...whined. His breathing turned to short gasps, and Sylvain’s mind scrabbled for something he could do.

“It’s okay,” he said, keeping his voice as soft as possible. “It’s fine, Felix. I don’t know what happened, but you’re going to be okay. Can you breathe with me? In and out. Okay? In, out. In, out. You don’t need to do anything else. Just follow my breathing, it’ll be okay.” Sylvain did it over, and over, and over, until his chest hurt from how deeply he was breathing. He couldn’t imagine how Felix was feeling.

Eventually, Felix’s breathing calmed back down to a normal rate, and Sylvain let him breathe on his own. He was shaking like anything, and Sylvain resisted the urge to pull the blankets around Felix’s shoulders. It wouldn’t help. But waiting until Felix calmed down further, until the present returned to his eyes...well, it was all Sylvain knew how to do.

Once Felix’s breathing was even and his posture had relaxed a little, Sylvain shifted on the spot, carefully trying not to crowd him as he got a little closer. “Is it okay if I take a tiny shot at healing you?” he asked. “Manuela did most of it already, but I’d feel better going to bed and getting rid of that potion if your wounds were completely closed.”

Felix paused for a long time, and for a while Sylvain worried that he’d said the wrong thing. He was just about to tell Felix that it was okay, and he’d leave if that was what would help the most, but then Felix nodded. Slowly, Sylvain let the faith magic form a glow around his hands and raised them to Felix’s side.

Felix relaxed further, and Sylvain found a small smile creeping onto his face. It was good to see, especially after all that had just happened. “All done,” he said once his magic for now had run dry. “Better?” Felix nodded. “Great. Do you want me to stay?” Another nod. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep, how does that sound?” At that, it was Felix’s turn to smile, and he nodded a third time.

With his breathing coming easier than before, Sylvain imagined that the only thing left was exhaustion. He was feeling pretty drained himself. It wasn’t long until Felix fell asleep; he’d curled up on his side in the pile of blankets.

Once Felix was definitely breathing evenly and slowly enough that he was clearly asleep, Sylvain stood as quietly as he could and made his way back to his own room. Goddess, he needed to sleep for a week. Seeing Felix like that was so hard. He wanted to take whatever had hurt him and stab it several times, preferably with the Lance of Ruin.

But he knew he shouldn’t insist on that information. It wouldn’t help him or Felix to talk about it if Felix didn’t want to, and it was his story to share. As long as Felix was feeling better now than he was before, that was all he could really ask for. It was all he wanted.

After that, things got a lot more comfortable between him and Felix. It was always Felix who initiated these things, because he knew far better than Sylvain what his boundaries were, but sometimes… Sometimes Sylvain found that Felix was sitting a little closer to him, or he’d approach him for conversation more often. They moved to eating one meal together every day, sometimes two. It was a noticeable change, but Felix didn’t mention it, and Sylvain didn’t comment on it either. 

What was more difficult to ignore, however, was...well. They were closer. They spent more time together; Felix started writing his weekly letters home to his father in Sylvain’s room. They sparred together more frequently too, and there was nothing more attractive to Sylvain than Felix being frighteningly competent and showing off just how easily he could crush Sylvain in an instant.

It went the same way every time. “Hey, Felix, fancy a round in the training grounds?” he asked.

Felix looked up, that small smile on his face. “Of course,” he said. “Are you going to be worth my time?”

“Never,” Sylvain replied with a grin, and Felix got up from his seat to follow him to the training grounds.

Sylvain had tried all kinds of weapons in an attempt to best Felix; his usual lance, a sword to match Felix’s, an axe in the hope of getting him down in one hit, and magic to get some distance. None of it had worked, and he didn’t expect it to work this time, picking up a lance and facing Felix down with a smile.

Felix struck fast and low, as always, and Sylvain still hadn’t managed to get the agility to stop his relentless onslaught. Felix had such an incredible range of movement; it made defence ridiculously tricky. He had to constantly be on his toes, constantly moving, constantly adapting.

Felix landed a strike to his ribs, forcing him to take a step back. In return, Sylvain managed to catch him on the leg, but Felix just shifted his weight and came from another direction. Favouring one leg, though, meant Sylvain could work around his slightly lopsided defence and-

Before Sylvain knew it, Felix had swept him off his feet with a quick strike on the backs of his knees, and he fell to the dirt. Remembering what Felix had said about needing to play dirty and ditch the Faerghus conventions of combat, he kicked his foot out as he fell, catching Felix by surprise and forcing him to throw his arms out to break his fall-

Felix landed with his hands either side of Sylvain’s chest, his lips level with Sylvain’s eyes. His lips didn’t look soft, but they were definitely kissab- oh no. Felix flushed bright red, and Sylvain could feel his own face warming. They normally didn’t get quite so close.

“You win,” Sylvain said. “Dinner?” he suggested, just about managing to choke out the word and put a smile on his face. Goddess he hoped Felix was far enough away not to be able to feel his crotch right now.

“Y-yeah,” Felix said, very quickly pushing himself away from Sylvain’s body and going to place his training sword back where it belonged. The silence between them stretched on as they made their way over to the dining hall, Sylvain frantically trying to tell his body that now was absolutely not the time.

Once they sat down with their food, however, the tension passed. They talked about their assignments for that week, the new student the Professor was angling to get in their class, and the upcoming ball. Felix wasn’t planning to attend, but with a bit of wheedling, maybe…

“Think of all the free food!” Sylvain said. “And I know you don’t go for the pretty girls, but what about the boys?”

Felix scoffed, but there was a faint blush on his face. “I don’t like big events,” he said.

“But you like dancing,” he pointed out. Felix shrugged. “Oh, c’mon Felix, you’re great at dancing! And you’re way more graceful than you were as a kid. I bet Annette would kill to have a dance with you, or Ashe.”

“...I’ll think about it,” Felix said, a small smile forming on his face. He was as prickly as ever with almost everyone else, but somehow Ashe and Annette had become exempt; Sylvain was not above using that to his advantage.

“I’d like to be there with you too,” he said, leaning over to grab a piece of chicken from Felix’s plate with his fork. “It’s nice to unwi- fuck!”

Everyone looked over at him. Sylvain looked down at his hand, now impaled with Felix’s fork. And Felix was looking at him, something akin to terror in his eyes. Everyone was staring at them. Sylvain watched, everything in slow motion, as Felix’s teeth worried his bottom lip. There was blood coming from his mouth.

There was blood streaming from Sylvain’s hand and fuck, it hurt. Felix stood and, without saying another word, practically fled the room. No one tried to stop him, instead watching as he went. Watching Sylvain as he sat there, staring at the fork embedded several centimetres in his hand.

Chaos descended; Sylvain’s whole class flocked to him, crowding round, telling him to pull the fork out, telling him to leave it in to stem the bleeding. “I’m fine,” he said, in a lot of pain. He’d been stabbed before, of course, but this felt completely different. He didn’t quite know why. “I’ll go to Professor Manuela, it’ll be okay.”

Miraculously, his classmates let him go to the infirmary with only Ingrid as an escort. She didn’t say anything as they walked, but she kept shooting him funny glances. There was a conversation to be had there; Sylvain just didn’t know what it was yet. Whatever it was, he doubted he wanted to have it.

“Good afternoon, Professor!” he called, keeping his voice as cheery as possible and hoping Ingrid didn’t hear the strain. Blood was dripping onto the floor.

“Good evening Sylvain, I’m very- oh Goddess, give me two moments.” Manuela pushed Ingrid out of the room quickly, sitting Sylvain down next to a basin. “I’m going to give you this,” she said, handing him a vial, “to dull any pain so I can pull this out sooner rather than later. Go on.”

He nodded, downing the absolutely foul tasting liquid in one. The things he did at this woman’s request, honestly. A few seconds later, his hand went completely numb, even though he could still see the fork, still see the blood. He knew how it was meant to feel, how much it was meant to hurt, but he couldn’t feel it.

It was a good job he couldn’t feel it, too, because once Manuela had filled a basin with water and gathered up a couple of bandages, she pulled it from his hand. And while he couldn’t feel a thing...ouch. It looked real nasty.

“You’re very lucky,” Manuela said, discarding the fork and tying a bandage tightly around Sylvain’s hand. The blood started showing through almost immediately, and she got to healing it with magic. “From where the fork is, I don’t think it hit any nerves. As long as you don’t strain it too much for the next couple of days, I doubt there’ll be any permanent harm.”

“Great,” he said with a smile. “Thanks, Professor.” Somehow, he hadn’t actually been worried about it doing any damage; he’d barely thought about it. He’d only been thinking about Felix (and how much being stabbed with a fork fucking hurt).

“So, you know I have to ask,” Manuela said, “and I’m sure I can get the information from anyone else. But tell me: who did this?”

Ah, shit. Felix would probably land himself in a pile of crap for doing this, especially in front of everyone else. “It was an accident…?” he suggested.

Manuela scoffed. “Nice try, young man,” she said, “but that was embedded far too deep in your hand for me to buy that excuse. There was no way this was anything other than deliberate.”

“Well, I’m telling the truth,” he said. “You could ask anyone else who was there, which was the whole Academy by the way; I did something stupid and ended up with a fork in my hand. No harm done in the end, right?” He willed her to drop it. He didn’t want Felix to get the blame for something that was his fault.

“I see,” Manuela said, frowning at him. “Well, I won’t press. But if something like this happens again, I’ll have to investigate it further. Your health is my utmost priority, Sylvain; protect it so I don’t have to.”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, standing up and grabbing a fresh bandage to change the wrapping around his hand a little later. “Thanks again, Professor. I owe you one.” He winked, more out of habit than anything, and Manuela tutted.

He had something else very, very important to do right now.

Initially, Felix didn’t answer his knock on the door. Sylvain considered the possibility that he wasn’t in at all, and he’d run off to be somewhere he definitely couldn’t be bothered. But if that was the case, then Sylvain wouldn’t be able to see him today. So he had to believe that Felix was in his room.

“Felix?” he asked quietly, knocking again. “It’s me. Please at least say if you don’t want me here, and then I’ll leave you alone, okay? I just wanted to check you were alright.”

Silence again for a while, and then. “You can come in.” Felix’s voice was hoarse, and Sylvain tried not to read into it too much. It wasn’t what he was here for, so he tried not to hesitate and opened the door.

The bedding was piled in a heap in the far right corner of his room, but Felix himself was on the very edge of his bed. Sylvain pulled the chair away from his desk so he could sit opposite him.

He tried not to meet Felix’s eyes, instead just sitting and looking at the floor. He knew trying to make eye contact made Felix uncomfortable, and that was the opposite of what he was here for. “I’m here to apologise,” he said, willing as much sincerity into his voice as he could manage. “I...overstepped your boundaries, and I don’t know what I was thinking. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

Felix was rubbing the skin on the back of his left hand with his fingers. He was trying to cover it up, but Sylvain could see where it was already a little raw. “Felix, stop,” he said. Felix stilled. “It’s okay, I promise. I told Manuela it was an accident, and…” His left hand, of course. Sylvain moved to unwrap the bloodstained bandages around his hand, exposing the soft but slightly red skin beneath where the wound had already mostly healed. “It’s fine, see?”

Felix nodded jerkily and his hands fell firmly to his sides, clenched into fists. Sylvain just wanted to take both of Felix’s hands in his and hold him until- but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything like that, because it was him stepping over the boundaries Felix barely set that caused this problem in the first place. Making unannounced moves like that would just be asking for trouble, and asking to hold his hands...well, it sounded like something big. Sylvain couldn’t do that.

But what he could do… “You can say no to this,” Sylvain said, “and I wouldn’t blame you if you do. But can I hug you?”

When they were kids, Felix was not a hugger. He didn’t like touching or being touched by other people; he couldn’t explain why, and Sylvain couldn’t remember if he’d noticed it or if Felix brought it up. He just remembered having the conversation and also remembered seeing Felix flinch at every stray brush against him. Hugging was more likely to bring on a crying fit.

He expected Felix to refuse, but there was a part of him- “Yes,” Felix said. “You can hug me.”

He went in slowly, gently, wrapping both his arms loosely around Felix’s shoulders. Felix shuddered once, and Sylvain nearly moved to pull away before Felix settled his head on Sylvain’s collarbones. He felt arms wrap around his back, holding tight but not too tight.

Sylvain smiled as something warm lodged itself inside his heart. Everything about this felt right.

* * *

“Heya, Sylvain.” The girl in front of him had a name that Sylvain couldn’t remember and didn’t really care to. He’d talked to her maybe a handful of times before, possibly, but he couldn’t actually remember the contents of the conversation. He didn’t imagine it was anything important. “Mind if I sit here?”

Without waiting for his answer, the girl slid into the seat next to him. Sylvain offered her a smile in return. “Hey, do I know you?” he asked. He knew her, but he wasn’t feeling all that charitable today. If she wanted him that badly, she’d have to do a bit of work.

“Uh, yes, of course,” she said with a giggle. It all sounded so fake to him. Why was she even here? “We went on a date last week, and I wanted to go on another...you know, just to make sure you’re serious.” She smiled sweetly at him.

“When are you thinking?” he asked, smiling just as sweetly in return.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I’m sort of a busy gal. There are _lots_ of people who want my attention, you know? How about, hmm...Wednesday evening, for dinner.”

“I can’t do then, sorry,” he replied without thinking. Wednesday was the night before their weekly battle simulations exercises were due. Just about every week, he sat in Felix’s room and looked over his answers, just in case something had fallen through the net. “I made plans with Felix.”

The girl wrinkled her nose, and a brief pang of anger flashed through Sylvain’s head, just for a moment. “Oh, really?” she asked. “I think you could spend your evening a little better, you know. Or just do it at another time. I don’t know why you make time for him at all.”

Sylvain’s sweet little smile hardened without him even thinking about it. “I prioritise plans I’ve made with friends over new suggestions for how to spend my time,” he said. “And yes, I do make time for him. Because we’re friends.”

“Why?” she asked with a laugh. And the laugh was so hollow Sylvain wanted to be sick. He did this all the time, but it had never made him feel quite like this before. “Can you even be friends with someone like that? He seems more like a wild animal than a person to me.”

Two desks over, Sylvain watched Felix freeze out of the corner of his eyes. He’d been listening, of course; who wouldn’t, when someone was sitting so close, talking about you?

“Actually,” he said, “I think I can call a permanent rain check on a second date. I wouldn’t want to spend time with someone who so freely acts so rudely. If you have some kind of problem with the friends I have and the company I keep, you can just accept it won’t work out. No one I’m friends with has done anything to warrant the kinds of things you just said.”

The girl spluttered slightly, looking between him and Felix in disbelief. Sylvain quirked an eyebrow at her, and she quickly moved, muttering something under her breath. Probably about how he didn’t have his priorities straight, or something along those lines. Sylvain didn’t actually care.

Once she was gone, he turned around to talk to Felix. Commiserate, perhaps, about how stupid people could be sometimes. But Felix was gone, and he didn’t come back to class for the rest of the day.

The following day, Felix was still a little cagey. He didn’t talk to Sylvain during class and didn’t join him for training, or to eat. So when someone knocked on his door in the evening, even though he was due a visit from Felix, Sylvain wasn’t expecting it to be him at the door.

He was right. Facing him, looking more than a little harried, were Ingrid and Dimitri. Sylvain could guess what they wanted. “Come on in,” he said, trying not to sound too worn down. He was even more certain about what they wanted when Ingrid’s gaze drifted to Sylvain’s now mostly healed hand.

This time, Ingrid took the chair, leaving Sylvain and Dimitri sat on opposite ends of the bed. “We need to talk about Felix,” Ingrid said. Did they? Did they really have to talk about him, with Felix not here?

But Sylvain didn’t say as much. Not if there was a chance that they could be as good about this as Felix needed people to be. “I’m getting rather worried about him,” Dimitri said. “I know we’ve come to you before about Felix being a little jumpy, but the last moon or so has been...something else entirely.”

“I’m worried Felix is losing his grip on himself, so to speak,” Ingrid said, fidgeting with one of the fastenings on her jacket. “Whatever it is that’s bothering him is making him seem- people were talking about how they saw him with you before the Battle of the Eagle and Lion and he seemed completely…”

“He had a reaction to something when Manuela was healing him,” Sylvain said. “He was okay in the end, I took him back to his room and finished off the job Manuela started. There’s nothing to worry about there.” There was, in a way, because Felix had reacted in a way unlike anything Sylvain had seen before. But it wasn’t something he felt he could just talk about. Not without Felix there.

“And it’s not just that,” Dimitri said. “There was the other day, too, with Felix acting so violently with no provocation other than your presence- I’m not saying he’s a violent person. I truly believe he’s still the kind boy we knew as children, but it’s concerning regardless.”

“I just think there might be something seriously wrong with him,” Ingrid said, and if it weren’t for the genuine concern in her tone, the way she’d worded that would have made him angry. “And I think helping him might be beyond just an effort from us.”

Sylvain let out a deep breath, trying to work out how to phrase his worries without actually worrying either of them. He didn’t think they quite had the right idea, but he didn’t know how to tell them that. “What happened the other day was my fault,” he said firmly. “I said it before, but Felix has personal boundaries. And they slipped my mind for a moment and I intruded in his space. I don’t blame him for what happened at all.”

“But if that happened with someone else?” Ingrid asked.

Sylvain allowed himself to laugh at that, just a little. “I tried to steal food from his plate,” he said. “I don’t think it’ll happen again. And what you said earlier was right, Dimitri- Felix isn’t a violent person, and he’s not a different person from the kid we used to play with. But things have changed a lot and I think we just need to be understanding. Deciding that we need to take this out of our hands…”

“We could write to Rodrigue,” Ingrid suggested. “He knows Felix well. Perhaps better than the rest of us. Maybe he would know what to do, how best to help.”

“We shouldn’t do that,” Sylvain said firmly. “Felix writes to his father every week; if he wanted him to know, then he’d just tell him, right?”

Dimitri paused. “But if he cannot show everyone that he’s doing fine, in the end, surely we should be warning Rodrigue about it before he can hear about it from someone else?”

Sylvain frowned. “Duke Fraldarius could know already,” he pointed out. “I’m sorry, guys, I really am, I just- you can’t blame Felix for the way he’s struggling. I trust that he’s trying, and I hope you can trust that too and just try to help the way you can.”

Ingrid’s face still betrayed her frustration. “I don’t know,” she said. “I trust Felix, of course I do, he’s our friend, but when he loses control of himself like that, when he hurts people or ends up hurting badly himself because of all of this...really, I just wish he could deal with it a bit better. I wish he’d come to us instead of airing these things out for everyone to see.”

“Ingrid, please,” Sylvain said. He was really, truly trying not to get frustrated, but it was difficult. How could he not, when they were suggesting running all over the boundaries he and Felix had so carefully set up? “Something really terrible must have happened to him, and he doesn’t want to talk about it. Going to an adult isn’t going to change any of that; it’ll just make it worse.”

“I suppose…” Ingrid said. Sylvain tried not to watch how Dimitri had curled in on himself a little and gone very quiet. Tried not to think about what that meant, what Felix had said about Dimitri. “Perhaps you have a point. We’ll just have to…”

“We’ll have to do our best,” Dimitri said, his voice quiet but laden with something Sylvain didn’t entirely recognise. “We should support Felix as best he can, and hopefully then our worst fears will not come to pass.”

Sylvain nodded, and almost before they could lapse into silence, Ingrid stood. A few moments later, Dimitri did the same, and they left without much further discussion. Sylvain felt mildly sick.

He understood, of course, that some of the things that had happened lately were concerning. Felix was struggling, suffering. Maybe he was losing a grip on himself just like Ingrid and Dimitri were worried about. But he didn’t quite understand why people couldn’t accept the changes in Felix in the way he had.

They never said it, of course, because saying it sounded harsh and wrong beyond measure, beyond even what either of them felt it was appropriate to say in private with a friend, but Sylvain got the feeling that what they really wanted was their childhood friend back. He couldn’t blame them; they’d all lost a lot just before Felix disappeared, and wanting something back from that time was natural, and normal, and sometimes he felt that way too.

But he knew that Felix had changed. It was as clear as day, and should have been from the moment Felix joined them at the Academy and fumbled through the first weeks like he was utterly out of place. Felix was different now, and it was up to them to accommodate that difference and make him feel welcome even though everything had changed.

Sylvain could see that. He wanted to bring that into being. He wanted Felix to be able to open up around him, open up around everyone he wanted to. He wanted things to be better, and he felt like the way he was going about it now _was_ getting somewhere, even if there were the occasional slip ups. So why could no one else see that?

He’d always felt like, out of most of the people he knew, he was the worst at caring about other people’s feelings. He trampled over everyone’s sensibilities and wishes like there was no tomorrow at the best of times. The number of times that Ingrid and Dimitri had told him off, sternly, and he’d just promised not to do it again and then done it immediately once more showed him that better than anything.

But when it came to Felix, things were different. When it came to Felix, well- Felix was special. Somehow. And every wince, every silence that shouldn’t be there, felt like something was tightening around Sylvain’s throat.

He needed to help Felix. He wanted to help Felix. He wanted it more than anything in the world, and it felt wrong, but it also felt so, so right.

All through the next day, Ingrid and Dimitri were perhaps the opposite of subtle. They kept shooting glances at Sylvain, at Felix. It had him worried, and Felix was practically vibrating in his seat at points. He was glad to see the day of lessons end, happy to escape their scrutiny.

“Sylvain, could we-” Felix jerked his head towards the stairs back up to the dormitories. Technically, Sylvain had told someone that he’d be out on the town later. But he wasn’t going to refuse Felix when he asked for something.

When they got to Felix’s room, Felix sat on the floor, and Sylvain took the chair. “What’s this about?” Sylvain asked, though he had a pretty good idea. He hadn’t spoken to the girl who’d insulted Felix again, and she hadn’t approached him, but he’d seen the way Felix looked at her every so often.

“Maybe you shouldn’t spend so much time with me,” he said. “I must be pretty bad if you spending time with me ruins your reputation. Considering the kind of company you normally keep.” There was something close to teasing in his tone, but it was also so much heavier. It made something hurt inside him.

“Absolutely not,” Sylvain said firmly. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with me spending time with you. Just because other people see you that way doesn’t mean _I_ see you that way, and I care about myself way more than anyone else. You know that.”

Felix scoffed, but he didn’t say anything. He stared at a point just over Sylvain’s shoulder, and Sylvain pretended not to see his nervousness. Definitely didn’t try to make eye contact. He just collected his thoughts and continued speaking. “I may worry about you, sometimes, but I don’t see you like they seem to. It’s their problem if they can’t understand that you’re not just some-”

He stopped. Felix’s eyes snapped to his, and then fell away immediately. “Some animal?”

Sylvain readjusted his weight on the chair. He knew that was how some people saw Felix. Maybe more people thought it than were willing to say it. The point was that he couldn’t deny that people thought it, but… “I know you’re not like that,” he said. “I know something- something happened.”

“What do you mean?” Felix asked. There was something close to anger in his tone, but Sylvain knew not to be chased away by that by now.

“Sometimes, Felix, you look like you’re, I don’t know, really far away. Like you’re not even here.” It was a look he recognised as the way he’d felt facing Miklan again. Like nothing was truly real. “And I know you’re not the way people see you, but I also just...I want to know what’s wrong. Things can be hard and show up in strange ways, so I just- I want to know how to help.”

And just like that, Felix’s face closed off. “I’m always here,” he said. “I’m always present. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m always here.”

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with you,” he said, trying to keep his voice gentle. He’d said the wrong thing again, and Felix was denying what was happening even though he was literally experiencing the exact thing Sylvain had just described to him. “But okay. You’re always here.”

Felix nodded sharply. His fingers were digging into the carpet below him. He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a breath. Breathed out sharply. He was struggling, but he’d just denied it, and Sylvain knew by now that pushing wouldn’t help. Felix would fight back, and then he’d dig himself even deeper.

So Sylvain leaned over and grabbed one of the books from Felix’s desk and sat down on the floor next to him. He didn’t say anything, didn’t acknowledge that Felix might need some help right now. He just sat, and read, and hummed a couple of songs that had stuck little snippets in his head.

When Felix’s breathing evened out a little and his posture loosened up, Sylvain pulled one of the blankets that was balled up on the bed onto the floor, draping it around Felix’s shoulders. He let out a soft sigh and smiled very slightly, though he still didn’t say a word. And with that, Felix rested his head on Sylvain’s shoulder and stayed there.

It got a bit uncomfortable after the first hour, but Sylvain couldn’t bring himself to care all that much. Because Felix fell asleep on his shoulder and Sylvain felt more at peace than he had in...longer than he’d like to admit. 

In the end, Sylvain stayed all night, eventually drifting off when Felix shifted into a more comfortable position. When he woke, it was to the blanket draped over the pair of them and Felix’s head still resting on him.

* * *

The ball was the event Sylvain had anticipated most in the school year. He wasn’t a big dancer, and he wasn’t huge on fancy events like some of the Adrestian students were, but he could appreciate a party. He liked seeing everyone dressed up in their best, unafraid to show how good they actually looked, if only for one night.

And, okay, maybe he was saying that mostly because all of his friends could do with having pride in something that wasn’t their ability to hit things really hard or set things on fire. But they did also look really good in the clothes they’d picked out for the evening.

It also didn’t hurt that there was a whole lot of free food, and Sylvain really did like the food they made at the monastery. Even after so long here at the Academy, he never lost his appreciation for the way people cooked south of Faerghus. There was so much flavour, and tonight he could eat as much as he wanted. It was great.

He danced with half the girls in the room, and asked the other half - they said no, of course, but he’d been expecting as much to happen. Even with his winning smile and best outfit, there were plenty of people who hated his guts. Fair, honestly.

But the point was that he was having an absolute blast. He wasn’t the best dancer in the room, and he definitely wasn’t entirely at home in this setting, but he was happy to make of it what he could. This would be a night to remember and look back on fondly in just the same way that he’d heard the adults in his life reminisce on it.

The only person who wasn’t having fun (who was still here, at least - Sylvain had asked Bernadetta for a dance and she had promptly fled) was Felix. Sylvain had spotted him several times throughout the night, and each time he’d looked more and more miserable.

Eventually, Sylvain made his way over, snagging a skewer with some spiced meat on it as a peace offering. “Hey, Felix!” he said, holding out the meat. Felix blinked. Frowned. Took the meat. Sylvain remembered what he said about finding even a handful of voices difficult to manage. “Do you want to head off? Go somewhere a little quieter?”

Felix hesitated, but eventually he gazed around the room at the event he clearly wasn’t enjoying and nodded. “Fine,” he said.

Sylvain knew exactly where to go. He took the lead, leaving the ballroom and taking Felix through the dark pathways of the monastery at night. They passed the section of the monastery with all the classrooms, and he thought he saw a glimpse of Dimitri and the Professor, but that wasn’t what he was here for.

Felix realised where he was leading him just before they hit the bridge to the cathedral. “There? Really?” he asked. Sylvain nodded.

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine,” he said. Oh, wait. “We’re not going to the Goddess Tower. I’m not interested in any of that kind of thing. We’re going to the cathedral.”

“Why?” Felix had relaxed minutely, but his arms were still crossed over his jacket as they made their way up to the cathedral.

“There’s plenty of space,” he said. “I thought we could dance.”

Felix hesitated again, and for a moment Sylvain thought he was going to be summarily rejected. “Fine,” he said. “But I’m leading.”

“Be my guest,” Sylvain said as they reached the entrance of the cathedral. They walked up between the pews and stopped just as it opened out into the main space. Sylvain smiled and held out his hand. Stiffly, Felix dipped into a bow and took Sylvain’s hand in his.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, the hint of a smile on his face.

“Of course, my lord,” Sylvain replied, fluttering his eyelashes a little at him. Felix snorted, averted his eyes, and began to dance.

He was good. Really good, in fact. Felix had always been graceful, in his own way; better at dancing than any of them as children, though he’d always hated doing it. Now, Sylvain imagined that he hated being good at something where he took the women’s role. It was tradition that, if two men danced together at all, the tallest would lead, but clearly Felix wasn’t have any problems going against that tradition.

They did a couple of circuits of the wide expanse of the cathedral before Sylvain accidentally stepped on one of Felix’s toes. It was totally his fault, but he was distracted by the feeling of Felix’s hand in his, the other hand settled on the muscles of his back. He couldn’t be _blamed_ even if he was at fault. Felix let out a short sigh. “You’re clumsier here than you are on the battlefield,” he said.

“According to you, that’s pretty difficult,” Sylvain said with a laugh. Felix shook his head.

“No, you’re not grace _less,”_ he said. “You’re just not graceful. Here? You’re definitely graceless. Do you ever practise dancing? At all?”

“Not really,” Sylvain said with a shrug. Once he’d stopped having constant lessons on how to do it (the lessons had ceased with the balls, which ceased when the Kingdom fell into disaster) he hadn’t really kept up the practise. The most dancing he did involved taking charge in taverns in an attempt to impress a pretty lady or two.

“I’m not surprised,” he said. “You missed the beat several times, and you’re absolutely hopeless when it comes to footwork. Honestly, I’m surprised we got that far.”

Sylvain laughed again. He knew that, while Felix meant it, he probably didn’t actually think any less of him because of the lack of talent. Dancing wasn’t really a practical skill, which meant...Felix must enjoy it enough to practise it in his spare time. Wow. “I was always told as a kid that the skill of a dancing pair always depends on the skill of the lead.”

“Of course you were told that,” Felix said with a scoff. “I was always told it depended on the ability of the person following to know what was going to happen next.”

“I’d hazard a guess that it’s a bit of both,” Sylvain decided, and Felix nodded. They’d come to a stop, sort of, no longer really dancing in earnest. Instead, they were swaying a little to an imaginary beat, their hands still linked. This was getting a little intimate.

“Either way, you suck at it a lot more than I do,” Felix said. His gaze was straying dangerously close to Sylvain’s eyes. And he liked Felix, he really did, and he was definitely going to remember the tenderness of this evening for a long time, but… 

“Yeah, but do I suck at this?” he asked, pulling his hand away from Felix’s and sprinting down the cathedral’s length. He’d always wanted to do this, but also there were always people here and he didn’t hate his family’s reputation _that_ much.

“Bastard!” Felix called after him, letting out a peal of laughter and sprinting after him. Sylvain felt his heart do a somersault and his breath catch in his throat at just the sound of it. He couldn’t imagine what Felix’s face looked like, and he shouldn’t either, because he’d definitely lose focus and- Felix caught him.

“Okay, you beat me,” Sylvain said. “But can you do it when I’m the hunter?” He grinned at Felix as he took just a second to process what had been said and he took off running himself.

True to the fact that Felix had caught him before, Felix was faster than Sylvain. He knew that already; they both did. But Sylvain chased him anyway, Felix never getting any closer, but their laughter still ringing out across the cathedral until-

“What in the world is the meaning of this?” a voice sounded, and Felix stopped. Sylvain almost slammed straight into him, catching himself just in time as the wide smile on his face faltered. Seteth entered the cathedral, a stern glare on his face. Oops.

“We were getting away from the crowds in the party,” Sylvain explained, fixing a smile on his face. “It’s on me, sorry about that. I thought there wouldn’t be anyone here.”

“There wasn’t,” Seteth said, coming to a stop in front of both of them. Sylvain stepped forward so he was standing at Felix’s side, instead of just behind him. He didn’t like the way Felix had tensed up, and he had no desire to see a repeat of the kind of thing that had everyone so worried about him. “Until someone heard shouting coming from the cathedral. You two, I presume?”

“Yeah,” Sylvain admitted. He was glad that Felix had the sense to let him do the talking; he didn’t tend to have a way with words that made people like him all that much. “We were just having a bit of fun. My apologies.”

“This is a place of worship,” Seteth said, but there was a strange...lilt to his words, despite the harshness of them. “Take care that something like this does not happen again. Go back to the ball or to bed; if I hear of either of you causing trouble again, I will not let you off with just a reprimand.”

It was only when Seteth turned away, stalking back in the direction of the monastery, that Sylvain realised what the thing he’d been able to hear in his voice was. Amusement; Seteth had been trying to hide a smile.

Everything was wonderful and perfect that evening. Things weren’t so wonderful and perfect the next day. Or the following month. Or the month after that. There was so much happening, and even though Sylvain spent half his waking hours alongside Felix in some description, their interactions didn’t come as easily as before.

Sylvain was stressed. Felix was stressed. The whole monastery was on edge and no one really knew what was going on or what the future was going to look like. Everything was changing so fast, and… 

And most importantly, Dimitri fell apart.

“I told you there was something wrong with him,” Felix snapped, the evening they returned from the Holy Tomb, which no one had even known existed before that month. They’d helped drag Dimitri back to the surface, shouting and lashing out at anyone who even suggested that, right now, there was nothing he could do.

Sylvain thought of Felix’s warnings as to what Dimitri said in his sleep. He thought of the way Dimitri had gone very quiet very quickly when talking about the way that Felix should be better at managing himself.

He thought of the way Dimitri had curled in on himself after the Tragedy, after Felix’s disappearance. He thought of how Dedue had been the only one who’d been able to bring him out of that shell he’d formed.

He’d been so happy to see at least one of his friends back to almost-normal that he’d never really wondered if there was anything beneath. If there was anything he needed to do to help them more. Because he’d spent all this time this year worrying about Felix, paying attention to the boy who’d seemingly drifted furthest away, when Dimitri had been there in need of his help all along.

The last month at the monastery was a blur of fear and regret. If Sylvain had found Felix’s dedication to training a little scary before, that was nothing compared to how he trained now. With lessons mostly called off due to cancelled exams and the need to prepare for the battle ahead, Felix trained from before dawn until after sunset. He needed to be prompted to eat, sleep, occasionally even just to drink.

He had a single-minded focus, and Sylvain didn’t even know how to fathom it. What end did he train to? “To become stronger, of course,” Felix said when asked.

“But why?” he asked. “You’ve trained harder than anyone here all year. You’ve trained harder than Edelgard, for fuck’s sake!” A knight in the training grounds glared at him, but Sylvain ignored him. He wasn’t exactly using foul language in _vain_ , this was important. “You don’t need to work like this.”

“I do,” Felix snapped, his voice dangerously low. Sylvain knew what that meant; stop pushing, because Felix wasn’t going to let it go any further. He had no desire to see any repeat of the kinds of things that had happened over the course of the time in their Academy.

So Sylvain didn’t push. He helped Felix take care of himself and helped everyone in any way he could. Most of all, he worried about the future that had suddenly snuck up on him. There was so much that had happened in this past year, and yet he felt like none of it actually prepared him for this kind of disaster.

He was afraid of the future, and what this war with Edelgard might bring for the people he’d failed to hold together. But he marched forwards anyway; he didn’t have any other choice.


	4. Off the Beaten Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: minor injury, mild description of dead bodies, canonical temporary character death, discussions of grief, insensitive discussions of mental health issues

They travelled away from the monastery, fleeing the oncoming war in the chaos that followed the fall of Garreg Mach. Initially, Sylvain and Felix travelled together, alongside the rest of their class. Ingrid peeled off first, and then everyone who was headed west, and then it was Felix’s turn to leave.

Sylvain had been in the same place as Felix near constantly for the last year, and letting him leave now at the most uncertain time felt decidedly wrong, but there was nothing he could do about it. They had their homes to return to, and they weren’t all that far away from each other really. A few days of travel at most.

Still, he worried. Felix was quiet on the journey north, constantly shooting glances at Dimitri, who kept spooking his horse with muttering and speaking to no one at all. With the sound of the wind, Sylvain couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he could guess. He’d heard what Dimitri said as they practically dragged him from Garreg Mach, convincing him finally that retreating to Fhirdiad would put him in a much better position for the inevitable war to come.

Dimitri had deflated since then, and the fight had drained out of Sylvain too, leaving him only with exhaustion and the now ever-present feeling of anxiety for the future that had become so uncertain.

It was funny, really; Sylvain had always dreaded the time he would come to leave the Academy and move on to the next part of his life. And now it had all been turned on its head and somehow it was worse than what had been there before. Actually, it wasn’t funny at all.

He waved Felix off with a fixed smile after securing a promise that he would write soon enough. Their group was even quieter afterwards; just him, Dimitri, and Dedue. Finally, they headed west themselves to Fhirdiad, and Sylvain was alone once more.

An escort met him at the Gautier border, clearly anxious for his approach. Once that happened, Sylvain felt he could finally settle back in to his usual routine, his usual persona. This stuff was easy; he’d been doing it his whole life at this point.

And everything was just as he expected it to be for a while. His parents still tolerated him with gritted teeth as he did all the things he shouldn’t do and said all the things he shouldn’t say. The servants put up with his antics and warned the new staff who’d been gone in his absence not to fall for his little tricks and seduction. The new staff fell for it anyway - as they always did.

Sure, there was an undercurrent of discontent, worry for what could come, but it didn’t take the form of anything drastic. Gautier was always ready for war; it didn’t matter if it came from the north or the south in the end. Even then, the only real change was the anticipation and prioritisation of whichever messengers made their way to Gautier territory. Enbarr was far, far south of Gautier; it would take months for an army to get anywhere close. For now, the thought of war from the south didn’t bother them that much.

At least, everything was as he expected it to be until the messenger came from Fhirdiad. “I bring an important message!” the man cried the moment he stepped from his horse, which looked like it was about to keel over. “I come from the capital. His Highness, the Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, has been executed on the order of-”

“Wait, slow down,” Sylvain said, gesturing to the nearest servant to open up the doors and fetch his father immediately. “Dimitri. What did you say about Dimitri?”

“He was executed in the morning, a handful of days ago,” the messenger said.

Sylvain didn’t know what to do, didn’t even know how to breathe. He couldn’t work out which way was up. There were many things he’d worried about in the wake of all of this. Things to do with Dimitri, even; would Dimitri declare war on the Empire or stay neutral? Would he be able to handle the pressure of leadership? What would Sylvain have to wear to the coronation, as the heir to Gautier?

He hadn’t even considered that there wouldn’t be a coronation. He hadn’t considered, when watching Dedue and Dimitri turn off at the fork in the road on their horses, that he would never see them again. Because there was no news of Dedue - there never would be, from an official messenger - but Sylvain had no doubt that the man had fallen with him.

The message threw Gautier into a frenzy. News poured in, more with every other hour, with messengers through the night. Rufus’ funeral had happened, a new Duke had been appointed to manage Itha - someone who was far too young for the role, one of Rufus’ bastards. Cornelia had taken control of the Kingdom, renamed it as the Dukedom in honour of Rufus’ death at the hands of “Dimitri, that tyrant in the making” and now demanded allegiance from the lords of the east.

Sylvain was not the biggest fan of his father. That, at least, didn’t really need to be said. But his father was also fiercely loyal to his independence and to the traditions of a Kingdom that had just crumbled in a matter of days. He would not bend his knee to an advisor who had executed the Prince without a trial, even if that advisor was the best the Kingdom had ever had.

Sylvain found that he was constantly busy, so he missed the messenger from Fraldarius until lunch. The woman had come in the morning, but he’d been taking inventory of their supplies, working out where their best fortifications would be, doing everything he could get his hands on really.

So he found out over lunch with his mother and father. The lunch was rushed, and cold, because they were already switching over to a wartime economy even though war had yet to be declared. “Did you get a chance to talk to the messenger from Fraldarius territory, dear?” his mother asked.

“No, I didn’t know one had been,” he said. There had been a couple from Fraldarius already, noting that Duke Rodrigue intended to take the matter to Cornelia directly. “What news from that part of the country?”

“Are you at all close to the Fraldarius boy?” his father asked, knowing full well that he was; Sylvain had received a handful of letters commending and complaining about his connection with Felix over the course of the school year.

“We’ve been friends since before he could walk,” Sylvain said. It was enough of an answer, if not the full truth. They didn’t need to hear the kinds of things he and Felix had been up to at the Academy.

“The message from the Duke announced that his son disappeared before dawn.”

Sylvain’s fork dropped to his plate. “He  _ what _ ?” he asked.

“You heard me, Sylvain,” his father said. “Please, close your mouth while you’re eating. I have no desire to see what my lunch looks like partially digested.”

“He’s gone?”

“Yes, you heard me both times,” his father replied. “Please catch up. I know he holds some value to you, but this isn’t unknown- he did the same after the Tragedy.”

Sylvain stood up. He didn’t think he could finish the rest of his food. His stomach was turning over and over and honestly he would be lucky to keep it all down. “May I be excused?” he asked. His father tutted, but nodded, and it was all Sylvain could do to not sprint from the room.

Felix was gone. Felix had vanished. And yes, he did the same in the wake of the Tragedy and maybe this was the same problem all over again, but Sylvain also knew what happened last time. Felix didn’t come back the same. And if anything like that happened again, he didn’t know if he could take it. He didn’t know if he could survive another four years away from Felix. Definitely didn’t think he could make it through another Fraldarius funeral.

He didn’t even think about the decision; he just made it. He arranged all the papers that were set out on his desk into the relevant piles and handed them back to his father. He packed a bag full of supplies and weapons, went to town to pick up the set of armour that had been ordered the week before, and then ordered the stableboy to tack up his horse. He was going to find Felix.

His excuse was that he was going to scout out the territory they controlled. In the last few days, an easy alliance had formed between his father, Ingrid’s, and Felix’s; they would not give in to Cornelia’s threats or demands. That meant that, even though the war had not begun, it soon would. A declaration would likely follow within days of Rodrigue’s visit to Fhirdiad - he wanted to see Dimitri’s body.

A war meant they needed to prepare, yes, but that preparation couldn’t just occur on paper. They also needed to know the exact lay of the land. What would it be like to fight in the forests? What about the level of water in the rivers, and whether they’d burst again with the spring rains? There were many things that they needed to know, and Sylvain was happy to find out.

He took notes as he rode. He spoke to townspeople, asked them how their crops were doing, whether they could spare people to fight in a war. The responses were mixed; some of them could. Some of them struggled to stay afloat even when there was shaky peace in the Kingdom. Sylvain passed people who, if he was being honest, probably wouldn’t survive the opening months of a war economy. People who were already refugees of one blight or another.

It was always that way in Faerghus, and in Gautier at the end of winter especially. This was a bad time for a war in a territory with a primarily scattered, rural population. Sylvain could barely imagine how much Ingrid’s family would have to sacrifice for Galatea just to keep their territory afloat, their people fed.

He asked after the state of the world, but he also asked after Felix. Specifically, he asked after a young man with dark hair who may have passed through the town, or been sighted in the surrounding areas; on foot, because Felix had always hated riding and Sylvain had barely even seen him on a horse when they were at the Academy. Horses hated Felix, and Felix hated them more.

But while there was plenty of information to gather when it came to how well - and poorly - they’d fare in the coming war, there was none to be found on Felix. It was as if he’d vanished off the face of the earth, just as before. It was terrifying. Sylvain was afraid beyond measure.

Eventually, his scouting brought him south to Fraldarius. War had broken out properly, now, and Rodrigue had returned to his castle to direct everything with his brother. Sylvain knew that, soon enough, he’d be needed as a soldier. Which meant he had to find Felix as soon as possible.

While he had drifted south, Ingrid drifted west, and they met in the middle. Sylvain took one look at her. She took one look at him. “Felix?” she asked. He shook his head. She did the same.

There was a mutual agreement between them, made without words, that they would keep going together soon enough. But for now, they were both in Fraldarius, and both of them had found that their leads had gone cold, so they needed to meet with their last possible source of information: Rodrigue.

Sylvain hadn’t seen Duke Fraldarius since the war started, and now he understood why. Rodrigue had always been someone who had aged gracefully; while Sylvain’s father showed the true extent of his fifty five years of age, Rodrigue had always seemed timeless to him as a child. Now, he looked a lot older.

He smiled when he saw them, hurrying them into his office to talk to them both. “It’s good to see you,” he said. “I hope you’re doing well. As well as can be expected, in these difficult times.” He looked very tired. It wasn’t just Felix’s disappearance that weighed heavily on him; Dimitri’s absence, too, must have been keeping him up at night.

“I’m doing well,” Ingrid said. “You- you seem busy, Rodrigue, so I don’t want to keep you long and I don’t want Sylvain to keep you either. We’re here to talk about Felix.”

“If you have anything to say,” Sylvain added, answering Rodrigue’s sigh.

“I do,” he replied after a while. He sighed again. “Felix was- distressed at the news of his Highness’ death. He set out for Fhirdiad before even I could make my journey there, and he was long gone before I arrived. As was Dimitri. I am sure that neither of them are dead; absolutely positive, even. But I have no hope of telling you where they are.”

“Thank you,” Ingrid said, but she sounded disappointed. Sylvain, meanwhile, felt a little spark of hope. When Felix had vanished the first time, it was Rodrigue who had declared his death. Not until the final search party came in with no leads at all, but Sylvain and Ingrid...they were probably the only search party right now.

If Rodrigue felt that Felix and Dimitri were alive, Sylvain would keep searching. There was no other choice.

Ingrid and Sylvain took extra supplies and an extra weapon each from Fraldarius stores.This time, they left the lands that were relatively safe. What was the use of searching territory that had already been thoroughly mapped out, scoured for any sign of anything that could be useful, anyone who matched the description of the Prince or the Duke’s son?

Now in decidedly hostile territory, Felix was even more difficult to find. It was a tricky - and dangerous - business to go into a village and say they were looking for someone matching Felix’s description. It wasn’t that people would know who they were looking for, or know what the Duke’s son looked like, but more that it was entirely possible that the Dukedom were looking for spies. In a time of war, everything was suspicious.

And, well, Sylvain and Ingrid  _ were _ spies. And they were looking for fellow dissidents right in the lion’s jaw.

They travelled and mapped out territory as much as they could, keeping an eye out along the way for any sign of Felix or Dimitri. And, well, even when they didn’t ask, they heard things. A tale of a monster, eight feet tall, bathed in blood and slaughtering Dukedom troops. Dimitri wasn’t eight feet tall and Felix definitely wasn’t; at best, they were looking at tales of Dedue.

“Maybe it’s Felix sitting on Dimitri’s shoulders?” Sylvain suggested. Ingrid scoffed and didn’t even shoot him a dirty look, which was probably testament to just how afraid she was that they wouldn’t find anything.

“They’d be at least nine feet tall if that was the case,” Ingrid shot back. “Felix isn’t that short, as much as you like to pretend he is.”

They could joke about it, but the tale also brought a small grain of hope into Sylvain’s heart. As it was, they could go into a village, pretend to be soldiers from the Dukedom (after all, they were all soldiers from Faerghus - they wore the same colours), and say they were looking for a mysterious figure who was ambushing their troops.

Funnily enough, people weren’t often all that forthcoming about what they had and hadn’t seen. Sylvain noted it down when they weren’t; people who wouldn’t talk to someone from the Dukedom could be useful in the war raging around them.

But it wasn’t the stories of the beast drenched in blood that captivated Sylvain the most, or the fanciful tale of an entire platoon of soldiers slaughtered by a single man whose skin was made of iron (tellingly, one story came from a woman who claimed to be an eyewitness to a figure who had been able to crush a skull with his bare hand. Sylvain was pretty sure Dimitri could do that, though fortunately he’d never seen it in action).

No, the story that made Sylvain’s heart leap was the one from a town at the edges of a forest. Someone’s chicken had gone missing, except they had ten chickens. And they claimed it was a wolf, because they’d seen a dark figure stalking close to the ground, but a wolf wouldn’t take a single chicken.

Sylvain looked at Ingrid. Ingrid looked at Sylvain. “Felix?” she asked, and this time they shared a nod.

Guessing that Felix had been in the vicinity did not, unfortunately, make it any easier to find him. Ingrid refused to search into the night, reasoning that the easiest way for them both to get killed would be to stalk around at night with minimal rest. She was probably right, but when each day dawned with no new sight of Felix, Sylvain continued to worry. He just wanted to find him.

He couldn’t bear losing him again, especially when he had the power to find him now. Especially when there was a lead, and they knew for sure he was out there.

They were making their way through the woodlands to their next destination. They didn’t want to be seen travelling on the roads too frequently; while the inhabitants of a backwater village might be happy to believe that they were soldiers of the Dukedom, actual soldiers of said Dukedom probably wouldn’t be quite so forgiving. Or so easy to fool.

That was when Sylvain heard it. A soft whining noise a short distance away. It didn’t sound like any animal he’d heard before, but even if it was then it was worth checking out what was going on. Even if the thing was trapped, it might make a good meal.

“Shh,” he said, gesturing to Ingrid and pointing in the direction the sound was coming from. “I want to check it out.” Ingrid rolled her eyes, but followed him as they both made their way through the undergrowth, towards the sound.

What Sylvain was decidedly not expecting was to see Felix, left arm covered in blood, caught in a hunter’s snare, twisting in a way that was absolutely making his wounds worse and not getting him any closer to being free. “Felix!” he said, his breath catching in his throat at the sight in front of him. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved at finding Felix or devastated at the state they’d found him in.

Felix’s eyes snapped to his, wild and full of pain and fear. His face twisted into a snarl that was far more familiar than Sylvain liked to admit, even to himself. “Hey, hey,” he said, attempting to appease Felix by raising his hands up, showing his palms. “It’s okay, Felix. It’s me. Sylvain.”

Sylvain took a step closer, gesturing to Ingrid to stay put. She let out a decidedly displeased noise, but she did as he asked and stayed right where she was as Sylvain got closer, one step at a time, being as slow as he could manage. Felix did not relax, and his eyes didn’t flash with recognition either.

Up close, Felix’s wounds looked even worse. Sylvain was going to have to take a shot at healing him, but before then he needed to cut Felix out of the snare. “Hey, Felix, I’m going to cut you out of there,” he said, speaking slowly. Felix rolled his eyes in response. Okay, maybe he did recognise him.

And then he pulled out his knife, and Felix’s pupils dilated again at the sight of it. This was going to be harder than he anticipated. “Ingrid?” he called back, still trying to keep his voice soft but unwilling to turn his back on Felix.

“What do you need?” she replied.

“I’m worried he might make a break for it,” Sylvain said, “and his wounds are way too bad for him to be out on his own right now. Could you be ready to cut him off, if it comes to that?”

Ingrid nodded, and Sylvain’s ears were filled with a low growl. Felix had heard and understood, of course, but he must have been too afraid to realise what was really going on. Or maybe he was delirious from blood loss, which was an even scarier thought.

“Okay, Felix, I’m going to cut you free now,” he said. “You have to hold still, or I might stab you accidentally. Please hold still.” This time, Felix grit his teeth, but he nodded. Sylvain reached out with his knife as slowly as he could and cut the metal wire that had fixed Felix in place. It was nasty and very, very sharp.

Instead of running as soon as his limbs were free, Felix moved half on his hands and feet and half upright until his back was to a tree. Ingrid lunged after him momentarily, expecting him to go further, but he didn’t move.

Now he was still and not in immediate danger, Sylvain could see just how bad Felix’s condition was. He was still wearing clothes typical of the style Sylvain knew he preferred, but the fur lined travelling cloak he often favoured was gone and what remained was torn and absolutely filthy, stained with blood in several places.

“Is it okay if I heal you?” he asked, drawing a little closer. Felix looked a little more with it now, even if he was shaking, and he nodded. Sylvain closed the rest of the distance and laid his hands on Felix’s left arm.

Felix flinched away with his whole body, and Sylvain let him go. “Sorry,” he said. “But I need to get close to heal it, I’m not all that good at this. Just watch my hands, okay?” He leaned in again, and this time Felix didn’t draw away. He couldn’t heal the full extent of the wounds, but he could close up the worst of it, and by the time he removed his hands, Felix’s skin was left looking red and raw but he definitely wasn’t bleeding onto the forest floor anymore.

That was when the rest of it hit him. Sylvain breathed a heavy sigh of relief and hit the floor next to where Felix had sat himself down. “You have no idea how relieved I am to see you,” he said. “I’ve been looking forever.”

“Sylvain,” Felix mumbled, and Sylvain looked up, but he didn’t say any more. He grimaced and shook his head.

“Felix!” Ingrid scolded, getting closer much faster than Sylvain would dare. To his surprise, Felix didn’t shrink away. “I’m so glad to see you safe. Well, relatively safe, anyway. You’re such an idiot, do you have any idea what could have happened if anyone else had found you here?”

Felix drew a finger across his throat, and Sylvain laughed nervously. Well, he supposed Felix wasn’t wrong. It was just a rather uncomfortable truth. “Yeah, but it’s fine. It didn’t happen. So don’t run off again, okay?” Felix looked at him, clearly unimpressed. “Okay, sure, you didn’t really run off. But you vanished, and no one knew where you were. We were worried.”

Felix nodded, and made a move to stand once more, giving up only when he fell back to the ground. “Absolutely not,” Ingrid said. “You were just wounded, and you look absolutely exhausted. We can camp here for the night and continue in the morning.”

Felix shook his head fervently. “What is it?” Sylvain asked. Felix tried, and failed, to stand again. “Felix, you can’t even walk. We can’t keep going like this, what if we got attacked?”

Felix scowled, but again didn’t say anything. He was clearly absolutely exhausted, and Sylvain couldn’t help but wonder how much he’d been sleeping in the last few weeks. When he was travelling on his own, it had been...less than ideal, to say the least. Even with Ingrid to take the watch at night for a while, he was getting run down faster than he’d like.

Ingrid and Sylvain took turns keeping an eye on him, even if they were both fully aware that he probably couldn’t go anywhere, until he fell asleep. Once that was done, Sylvain could relax a little. “We found him,” he whispered. Ingrid returned his grin.

“We did,” she said. She looked a lot happier than she had in a long while. “We’ll have to see if we can get him back soon.” She shot another glance at Felix’s sleeping form; at his right, barely even out of his hands, laid his sword, and he’d insisted on sleeping in a seated position with his back against the tree he’d stumbled towards before.

“We’ll see if he’ll go,” Sylvain murmured. Seeing as Felix had most likely left to search for Dimitri, and he was perhaps even more stubborn than his father, he doubted that Felix would be willing to go back until Dimitri was found - dead or alive.

It turned out that Sylvain was right. “No,” Felix said the next morning, on the suggestion that they should follow the road east and get back to Fraldarius territory as soon as possible. “Dimitri first.”

This was an element of Felix that Sylvain hadn’t seen for a while. He was barely saying more than a handful of words at a time, which was pretty unusual for a guy who could practically wax poetic about the flaws of his various sparring partners at the Academy. It was concerning to see it back again, but given the circumstances, Sylvain wasn’t all that surprised.

Try as they might to convince him, neither Ingrid nor Sylvain could persuade Felix to change his course. “We lost time already,” he explained, setting off slowly in the complete opposite direction they had suggested. “I’m tracking Dimitri.”

Sylvain honestly had no idea how Felix was doing it, but he wasn’t going to turn around without him so he supposed he was in for the long haul. Felix knew exactly where he was going, seemingly; he charted their course through rivers, across roads and woodlands, carefully skirting around villages unless Sylvain or Ingrid insisted they stop for supplies.

As time went by, he spoke a little more: he’d managed to make it almost all the way to the capital when he’d picked up signs of Dimitri’s presence in the area. Since then, he’d been following it. He pointed out tiny little movements in the undergrowth that Sylvain would have been more likely to attribute to a deer or perhaps a mountain lion, considering how far south they were operating in Faerghus.

Felix laughed when he suggested that. “We’re following some kind of beast, that’s for sure,” he agreed. Sylvain hated how empty his laugh sounded, how the words weren’t filled with any kind of fondness.

“Do you have to refer to his Highness that way?” Ingrid asked, her forehead creased into a frown.

“Can’t you smell the blood?” Felix asked. Sylvain frowned. No, he couldn’t. But the implications had him very, very worried. When they did find Dimitri — if that was even the trail they were following — then would he still be alive? What state would he be in?

Several more days passed and they didn’t get any closer to seeing signs of Dimitri. They did, however, see several patrols of soldiers, and they weren’t dressed in Kingdom colours. They were dressed in Empire colours.

“Dastards,” Felix said, spitting on the road as the three of them watched the group of fifteen soldiers retreating up the road. “How long has it been since Dimitri’s death was alleged, and they already have the Empire this far east?”

“It’s been over a moon, Felix,” Ingrid relayed. “Are you...are you sure he’s alive?”

“Absolutely certain,” Felix said, and there was a fire in his eyes as he looked between the two of them. “You can leave if you want. I don’t need you to track him. But I’m not returning to Fraldarius until I’m sure the trail — and the boar — is dead. So hurry up, I think we’re faster than him.”

Sylvain glanced at Ingrid when Felix turned away from them, and she shrugged. There really was no convincing him when he didn’t want to be convinced. “We’re coming, Felix!” he called. Felix continued without looking back, but when Sylvain caught up to him he was smiling.

They were not smiling, however, when they encountered that group of Imperial soldiers again. Sylvain knew it was them, because he’d noted the flowers pinned to some of their uniforms. Now, he saw the white blossoms splattered with red and fourteen soldiers scattered in the mud. Scattered probably wasn’t the right word - discarded was more accurate.

Sylvain didn’t like to look at dead bodies all that much. He knew he was on a reconnaissance mission, which meant he was meant to observe things, but that didn’t mean he was willing in every way to get up close and personal with corpses. Felix examined each and every one of them.

“He’s been here,” he explained simply, now skirting the edge of the clearing where they’d found the heap. “Some of them have crushed bones, and they’ve clearly been attacked with a lance. See the holes where they’ve been impaled?”

“Funnily enough,” Sylvain shot back, “I haven’t.” Felix fixed him with a withering glare and bent down to pull something out of the undergrowth.

“This belongs to him,” he noted, showing Sylvain what looked like a tuft of fur. It was spring, but still chilly; wearing furs made sense, Sylvain supposed, especially if Dimitri wasn’t often able to make a fire overnight. “None of the soldiers are wearing anything like it, even though a couple have frostbitten fingers. They’re not well-equipped for this weather, and he is.”

Sylvain opted to ignore the way that Felix lifted the strand of fur to his mouth and sniffed it. He couldn’t pretend to understand the methods Felix was using, but there was no denying that they were on Dimitri’s trail. Maybe, just maybe, they’d find him. The bodies were fresh; he could tell that without looking too closely.

As the days passed, signs of Dimitri became ever clearer. They saw the inedible remains of animals left behind, a bloodied strip of fabric, a shattered weapon head. “We’re getting closer,” Felix guessed. Or maybe he knew. “He’s injured.” No shit.

Two days later, Felix refused to take a break when Sylvain suggested they make camp for the night. “He’s running away,” he said. “He’s slower than us, but he’s still ahead. If we take a break, he’ll slip off. And he knows we’re on his tail.”

“So why is he running away?” Ingrid asked. She didn’t stop walking, though; Felix’s tracking had got them this far and Sylvain sort of agreed that there was no real merit in stopping any time soon. They needed to find Dimitri. And soon, if the amount of blood they’d seen on the ground was any indication.

“Why do you think?” came Felix’s response. Ingrid didn’t say anything more after that. They kept walking.

A few hours later, they were walking in almost complete darkness. Sylvain had lit a torch, but it was burning low. Felix didn’t seem bothered at all, walking onwards without so much as faltering. “We’re close,” he murmured. He motioned for them both to stop. Sure enough, there was the clear sound of someone moving through the undergrowth. “Put out the torch.”

“We won’t be able to see!” Ingrid hissed.

Felix shrugged. “I’ll go ahead on my own if you don’t put it out,” he said. Sylvain looked at Ingrid. She looked back at him and shrugged.

“Can you see without?” Sylvain asked. Felix looked at him slightly strangely, hesitated for a moment, and nodded. Sylvain raised an eyebrow before putting the torch out, plunging them into darkness.

“Now wait here,” Felix said. “You’ll be a nuisance stumbling around in the dark.” Ingrid let out an indignant-sounding squawk, and the sounds in the undergrowth increased in volume. “He’s getting away, so just stay here,” he said again. And then he was gone.

Ingrid and Sylvain sat in darkness for several minutes, listening for the sounds around them. There was a lot of rustling. They couldn’t tell who it came from. There was also no light to be seen; Dimitri must have been using a torch to get around at night, but wherever he was it was too far from them to be visible.

“I can’t believe he’d just do that,” Ingrid murmured. “That trick had no honour.”

“It got what he wanted done, though,” Sylvain said with a shrug Ingrid couldn’t see. He couldn’t really blame Felix, though he wished it hadn’t needed all that. There was a tiny, traitorous part of his mind that was telling him that Felix just wanted to ditch them and now he wouldn’t come back, but he didn’t want to think about that.

A few minutes later, a shout rose from a long way away. Sylvain couldn’t make out the words, even if there were any, but they continued for a few moments, along with increased volume from the woods around them. Felix must have found Dimitri. Whatever was happening now was anyone’s guess.

“I got him!” Felix’s voice sounded through the trees. “Light your torch and come find us!”

Sylvain pulled a face that no one could see and lit his torch again, starting towards the direction the shout had come from. He was honestly way beyond questioning what had happened at this point; the whole thing was far stranger than anything he’d encountered before, and he’d fought crazed villagers and seen his teacher fall from a rip in the sky.

...Actually, maybe that was stranger. But the stuff Felix could do was pretty close.

As they approached, Sylvain could make out the sounds of continued struggling. However Felix had found Dimitri, the latter clearly wasn’t pleased about it. Eventually, the light from the torch filtered over to where Felix was, and two eyes emerged from the darkness. Sylvain jumped. And then stepped a little closer, one hand on where his lance was attached to his waist. Behind him, Ingrid gasped as the scene came into view. 

Felix, whose eyes were somehow glowing in the torchlight, was sat directly on top of Dimitri’s chest. Dimitri was face down in the dirt, struggling under Felix’s weight. Considering how strong he was, Sylvain had absolutely no idea how Felix had managed to pin him down, but it had happened. “He’s here,” Felix said.

“No shit,” Sylvain replied. Dimitri looked...well, he looked fucking terrible, to put it mildly. Sylvain couldn’t see his face as he struggled, but his hair was loose and long, caked in mud, and the dark furs wrapped around his body were stained with blood and torn roughly at the base. He’d clearly been using it to staunch the flow from his wounds, but he hadn’t been very successful.

“Someone heal him,” Felix said, as if he hadn’t taken faith classes with the rest of them. Then again, it looked like he had enough on his plate right now. Sylvain took a step closer, his right hand glowing with magic as he went.

Dimitri groaned as the magic touched his wounds, starting to seal them up, but he didn’t say anything for several moments. Once Sylvain’s magic had run dry (and he hoped it was enough to at least close the wounds - in the dark, he couldn’t really tell), he finally spoke. “Let me go.” His voice was low and rough with disuse.

“Absolutely not,” Ingrid said firmly. She’d taken the torch from Sylvain and spread out her sleeping mat. Smart; she’d get to sleep first once this ordeal was over. “We’ve spent over a moon looking for you, Dimitri. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Leave me be,” Dimitri tried. He didn’t sound all that intimidating with his face pressed against the ground, honestly. “I must fight on. Cornelia, Edelgard- I must have their heads for what they have done.”

“Woah there, buddy,” Sylvain said. “You can’t have any of that just yet. You were bleeding out into the dirt five minutes ago.”

“I am fine,” Dimiti emphasised. He didn’t sound fine and he definitely didn’t look fine. He wasn’t fooling anyone. “I do not need your help, and I do not want it either.” He didn’t even sound like the Dimitri that Sylvain had known for so many years. He sounded...heavier. Tired.

“Tough,” Felix said. “Because you have our help, and we’re using that to take you to the eastern Kingdom. Where someone can keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t go and get fake executed again.” There was a tinge of something to his voice that Sylvain couldn’t quite put a name to.

“No,” Dimitri protested, and then he started struggling again, squirming underneath Felix’s grip. Felix sighed. “I must go to the Empire. They will suffer for what they have done.”

“You can’t,” Ingrid reasoned. “Your Highness, you must be responsible about this and come with us. Back in the part of the Kingdom that’s still loyal to the crown, people can make sure you’re safe. Well-equipped. We can fight to retain what has been lost from there. If you go to the Empire, you’ll die.”

“I may as well have died with them,” Dimitri said firmly, and for a moment everything paused. The Tragedy, of course. Because this wasn’t about the Flame Emperor or the Dukedom. Dimitri probably didn’t even know that the Dukedom existed. This was about the Tragedy. It always had been.

“But you didn’t,” Felix said firmly. “So you live. And we’re not letting you throw your life away, no matter how worthless you apparently think it is. There’s more to this than your impossible quest for revenge.”

Dimitri let out a long, high sound that Sylvain couldn’t even put a name to. It made something inside him hurt deeply. Dimitri sounded so defeated. So distressed. This was the sound of Sylvain’s failure to notice something was wrong and everything that fell apart because of it. “If I am the only one to fall, then all the better,” he said. “None of you should share in Dedue’s fate.”

Ingrid let out a gasp next to him. Felix grimaced. Sylvain...Sylvain felt like the floor had been swept out from under him slightly. Dedue couldn’t be. Could he? He’d always been such a steady presence, the whole time Sylvain had known him. He was the rock Dimitri had leaned on. He was constant, unmoving. Reassuring, once you got to know him.

And he was gone.

“I’m sorry, Dimitri,” Sylvain said eventually. Felix and Ingrid were still frozen. “But...look at it this way. Dedue’s death meant something to him, right?”

Dimitri paused. Nodded. “Okay. So if Dedue died so you could live, then what’s the sense in dying now? Surely it’s better to give yourself a chance of doing what he would have wanted you to do.” Personally, Sylvain didn’t think that Dedue would have wanted Dimitri to kill more people in response to his death. Dedue was kind. But Dimitri also knew him a whole lot better than Sylvain ever did.

Sylvain regretted not talking to him more, now. He’d sort of always assumed that Dedue would be by Dimitri’s side for a long time. But now he was gone and he didn’t quite know how to mourn him.

“Live now,” Felix said. There was something cold to his voice, but again, Sylvain couldn’t put a word to it. Maybe he was too afraid to dig deeper and learn exactly how he’d failed to ease his friends’ suffering. “Return with me to Fraldarius. Get stronger, and then you can get that revenge you crave so badly.”

Dimitri struggled once more in the dirt, but then he nodded. “Alright,” he said. “You win. But I will not give up and I  _ will _ have her head. This is a promise.”

“And don’t even think about running off again,” Felix said, easing up the weight on Dimitri’s back as he stood once more. Dimitri sat up, and Sylvain could see where tears had made marks on his blood and dirt stained face. Goddess. “I’m faster than you. Stronger, too. You won’t get away again.”

* * *

“Revenge is a fool’s errand,” Felix said simply as they crossed another river. Finally, the mapping Sylvain and Ingrid had done was useful; they’d be back into friendly territory soon enough.

“Why did you tell him to get revenge, then?” Sylvain asked. It felt a little cruel for him to say something he didn’t believe just to trick Dimitri into coming back. Then again, if there was any way to keep him safe...he supposed it was a good idea to take that chance.

“There’s no point trying to get through to him when he’s like this,” Felix explained. Fair, he supposed. Dimitri hadn’t been doing great even before several moons on his own. Goddess knew what was going on in his head now, especially after everything that had happened. “Maybe once he’s had some time, he’ll realise there are more important things to worry about.”

“I don’t know, Felix,” Sylvain said with a shrug. He didn’t glance back at Dimitri; if he did, both he and Ingrid would know they were talking about him. “I get that this is the best place for him to go right now, but I sort of also...I get where he’s coming from, okay?”

Felix fixed him with a withering look. “Explain,” he said, “because I sure don’t understand one bit.”

“When you lose someone, it’s like…” Felix sighed. Of course he knew what it was like to lose someone. “Okay, sometimes, then, it’s like nothing matters but them. But the way they would have really felt fades away, and you just want things to be more fair. Death is unfair, especially when it’s someone you love, and when there’s nothing you can do about it, sometimes the only thing left is despair.”

Sylvain remembered many empty evenings full of a hundred things he couldn’t say. A thousand words he couldn’t put to speech because it felt like no one understood what it was like now his best friend was gone, seemingly forever. He knew that Felix didn’t feel that way about Glenn, or he would understand a little more how Dimitri felt right now. But Sylvain hoped he could at least try to understand.

They didn’t talk about it again, but the way Felix’s eyes followed Dimitri’s figure when they were close to each other softened a little. Maybe he was at least thinking about it.

The journey back to Fraldarius territory was a lot shorter than the journey out to find Dimitri and Felix, now they were neither charting the territory nor actively scouring it for people who didn’t want to be found. The one problem was crossing back over the border.

In the time that they’d been searching, things had clearly escalated considerably. There were soldiers all over all the roads, and time and time again they had to hold Dimitri back and pin him down as they watched a large force pass them from where they were hiding. Sylvain could understand his fury, seeing the way that the villages they now had to avoid were far quieter and some of the fields had not been plowed but crushed by seemingly endless pairs of boots.

Eventually, they found a space to slip through. They did, however, have to cross via a river. All the border crossings on the roads were heavily guarded, and some of the forest had been cleared to make spotting people easier. They just had to brave the rushing water with their (thankfully now much lighter) supply packs.

As they moved back through friendly territory, there were yet more signs that things had changed. There were supplies stockpiled inside barns, bags full of useless materials stacked up next to doors, ready to make a barricade should it be necessary. Lots of the measures taken seemed completely useless to Sylvain - you couldn’t keep enemy cavalry out with a knee high blockade - but if they made people feel safer? That was probably about as good as lots of areas in the Kingdom could do, now.

Eventually, the time came for them to part ways. Ingrid left first, heading south to return to her family. There was a lot of work to do in the coming months to merely keep Galatea afloat, and she’d have to throw a lot of energy into it. Sylvain didn’t envy her, but he did embrace her and make her promise to write.

He did the same for Felix when they reached Fraldarius lands. “Don’t disappear on me again,” he said firmly. “I know you don’t tend to like it, but write once in a while, okay?”

“I still don’t see the point,” Felix grumbled, but he agreed to in the end. Sylvain hoped he hadn’t looked too pathetic, practically begging to hear from him again.

“See ya, your Highness,” Sylvain said with a wave once his goodbyes with Felix were over. Dimitri startled, clearly off in his own world. He’d been like that a lot of the time and none of them had worked out quite how to help. He just hoped that whatever it was, Dimitri would be able to work on it soon and approach something closer to happy. As happy as anyone could be at times like this, anyway.


	5. Making a Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: canon typical violence, a character hallucinating, insensitive discussion of mental health issues, implied past abuse, referenced compulsory heterosexuality

‘Dear Sylvain,  
I hope this letter finds you well. I’m sure it will, it’s not like you’ve seen any real combat up in Gautier just yet.

Things have been fine here, so there’ll be no specific news from my father in an official missive. We’ve been fighting, of course, because those damned Dukedom troops keep coming over the border and trying their luck. So far, they haven’t brought anything large enough to crack our defences, but I’m sure they have more manpower than us. It’s only a matter of time before things get too serious.

Enough of tactics, though. I feel like I spend far too much of my time in strategy meetings and not enough with a sword in my hand, fighting to defend our borders. No, I wanted to write to you mostly about Dimitri.

There’s nothing...okay, there’s plenty wrong with him. That much I can tell. But I don’t know how to help him, and neither does my father, so we’re left to damage control. And there’s a lot of the damage aspect.

You know well enough that Dimitri is monstrously strong, and that hasn’t changed an ounce. What I didn’t realise was how well he was holding that strength back before, or what he can do when he’s actually trying to use it.

Needless to say, there’s no point in locking Dimitri in his room when he’s not well enough to be out. Father has kept him away from any actual fighting so far, but everyone knows he’s here. It’s only so long before people start to be demoralised by his lack of presence on the front lines. We all know that. He knows that too, unfortunately.

He wants to be out there, but I know that he shouldn’t be. You’ve seen the way he can be when he loses control of that facade of his. The people shouldn’t see that; the soldiers wouldn’t stand for it, and it would be horrendous for morale.

It’s all I can do to stop him from running straight to the capital and challenging Edelgard to single combat. It’s ridiculous. A farce, even. He can’t seem to get it into his head that there’s no way for him to actually do that. He’d be killed on the way, instantly, and as much as we are no longer close I do not wish to see him dead. It would be immeasurably bad for Faerghus.

If you have any advice, that would be appreciated.  
Felix.’

‘Dear Felix,  
Didn’t you miss me at all? You didn’t even ask after my dear mother’s health, or how I’m doing without you at my side. Though you didn’t ask, I’ll tell you: things are fine, so you didn’t actually need to ask at all, but I’m sure you breached about six rules of etiquette in your letter on those grounds alone. No worries, though, I don’t mind, I just wail each time I think of how cold your heart has grown to my gestures of goodwill!

Things are fine here, though we haven’t seen as little combat as we’d like. The soldiers of Sreng seem to be aware that there’s some kind of trouble down here; maybe Cornelia has even told them about it. Either way, my father took the Lance and headed north, so we’re sitting uneasily for now. Things should be fine, but you’ll be updated if anything changes.

With Dimitri...I know it’s not easy, but have you tried talking to him about it? We didn’t have time to talk to him while we were on the move, but there’s clearly a lot weighing on him. He needs someone to be there for him right now, in the way Dedue was there for him before.

It’ll be hard, and I know you two don’t always see eye to eye, but maybe the way Dimitri has viewed things until now has caused some of the problems we’re seeing. Be gentle though, okay? He’s not as sturdy as he looks.

Also, he’s just been ‘executed’ as part of a coup. He probably needs a little bit of sympathy right now.

Missing you and wishing you luck in battle,   
Sylvain.’

‘Dear Sylvain,  
The battle has moved further north, but not quite into Gautier yet. If you happen to be travelling south we may have use of your men, but I understand that the winter months were harsh on your territory and you may not have the people to spare.

There are many things that I could pour into this letter about the details of how everything is going for us. I won’t bore you with the intricacies, but I will ask to pick your brain a little on this dilemma:

There are many villages to the south of Fraldarius that have not been hit. Now it has been a year since the beginning of the war, they have managed to stockpile a fairly significant quantity of supplies, enough that we can now justify sending some north to the harder hit regions, and east to Galatea should they need it.

However, there is a distinct problem: transporting goods on the road requires soldiers, to protect from both bandits and Dukedom soldiers. If they know we have a supply train going, they will target that, which will require moving men from the current front lines. If we do that, there may not be anyone to feed once the adequately protected supplies reach the front. What would you have us do?

And yes, before you complain about my silence on the issue, I enjoyed the gift you sent with your last letter. You didn’t need to do that. I know things are hard and getting that together must have been difficult. Technically, I should chastise you for being too loose with our limited resources, but I find myself a little too glad with the excellent gift to care.

Dimitri appreciated the socks. I think he’s starting to do a little better after a recent incident.

Wishing you the best,  
Felix.’

‘Dear Felix,  
I’m really glad to hear you (and Dimitri) liked the things I managed to send over to you. I think we all need a little brightness in the world right now.

On the issue of your supplies, have you considered flying them over in smaller chunks, or using flying units to guard the supplies? They can move faster, and can defend far more easily due to their ability to see when things are coming. You tend to be looking a little close to the ground, and if you’re aiding Galatea I’m sure they’d be happy to spare some of their finest. Gautier would also have room to help; it’s too cold for pegasi to fly this far north at this time of year, so we have no use for them up here.

Otherwise, when it comes to tactical issues and distribution of men...maybe I will be able to convince my father to let me travel south to aid you. It has been far too long since we saw each other last, and I’d like to get the chance to see Dimitri again too.

Remember that the rivers have probably flooded, so take into account that a couple of roads might be out of action. I imagine the spring melt has hit you far harder than it has hit Gautier, but we’re still having a handful of issues with more direct routes being flooded and holding everything up. The poor man who carried your letter to me ended up soaked, I felt terribly bad for him.

Thinking of your health,  
Sylvain.’

* * *

They didn’t just exchange letters, of course. When Sylvain wrote that he would try and see Felix again soon, he meant every word of it. He always pestered his father to allow him to attend the big meetings of the remaining nobles of the Kingdom, and often his father permitted it - if Sylvain could make a name for himself as someone who had redeeming features as well as being a womaniser then he was happy for it.

Fortunately, Sylvain liked talking about tactics with people who actually understood how it worked, rather than discussing the theory of it all in a classroom. The Academy was great and all, but it was no war. None of them had any real experience with this kind of thing until it had been thrust upon them.

Felix went to the meetings too. His word wasn’t listened to quite as often as Sylvain’s perspectives, but, well...there was a reason for that.

“Why not dam the river?” Felix asked. “We need the route for our troops, and the Dukedom are stationed upriver from us.” He pointed at the map, on which several red figures were placed at the top of the river, with several black ones further down, further into Fraldarius territory.

“That would be a considerable effort,” Sylvain’s father argued. He never tended to like Felix’s suggestions; they were too much of a wild card, too full of imagination and lacking in intricate details. “Who are you proposing to dam the river? Who would guard those working on this? How would we prevent the enemy from not simply removing the dam, causing a deluge into the villages below?”

“We could use it as a choke point,” Felix explained, pointing to a spot on the river where passages on either side were thin. “It can be used as a border check and a lookout point too. There are plenty of Fraldarius soldiers available right now while the enemy are regrouping after the destruction of several of their supply chains, and we should keep that pressure up to delay their recovery as much as possible.”

“I won’t approve this policy on Gautier lands,” his father decided. Sylvain frowned, and watched Felix do so at the same time. “The risk to farmers is far too great if something goes wrong.”

“With all due respect, Margrave, we are at war,” Felix said. “There is no option that is low risk, unless you count leaving villagers to die from incursions of soldiers who don’t care that they’re not really involved.”

“Now, Felix,” Rodrigue started. Felix’s scowl deepened.

“I agree with Felix,” Sylvain chipped in. “We need to act at some point, so why not act when they’re still off guard? There’s no harm in giving it a shot, and there are plenty of regions that will flood badly if we let the river continue unchecked.”

“This is the natural progression of the seasons,” his father argued.

“Yes,” Felix said, “but the natural progression of the seasons doesn’t account for the need to move large numbers of men and supplies over land that previously only held a few cows and pigs. If we cannot construct the dam in Gautier territory, they will only have a greater advantage in that region.”

Sylvain’s father hummed and reluctantly allowed the conversation to move on, with room to discuss that particular tactic later if desired. In essence, it was a win for Felix’s idea; he just didn’t want to concede defeat when the argument was still ongoing, for the sake of saving face.

Honestly, he couldn’t help but marvel at Felix’s confidence. Felix had always been outspoken, sure, but he’d never been  _ well  _ spoken. Now, his words carried an authority they never had before. It was more than slightly enchanting to watch him, sometimes. Sylvain would even describe him as beautiful.

It was good to see. In just two years, Felix had come so far from the reticent young man who barely even spoke up in class unless it was to tell someone that chivalry sucked and flower language was unimportant unless it could be used to encode a secret message in combat (the point being that it almost definitely couldn’t).

And it wasn’t just the tactics table where Felix was finally shining above everyone else. As the war wore on through its second year, the need for Sylvain and Felix to be actually out in the field fighting increased dramatically.

They were needed for all kinds of things, and that autumn was no different. Sylvain was leading a late season incursion into Dukedom held territory in the hope that they’d be able to secure their supplies for the coming months. Each little capture they made would go a long way, but what they didn’t want was for the Dukedom to abandon the territory within; then, it would be the Kingdom’s responsibility to feed the people in the villages there.

Sylvain was a good leader and all, but, well… It was late in the season. Fighting as the snows started to fall was never a good idea, and his battalion was cold and tired. The Dukedom had them pinned between a thicket and an icy cold river. If they went towards the thicket, they’d get split up and it would be all too easy for the troops to be picked off one by one. If they went for the river, some soldiers would surely drown. It was flowing fast, and the water was freezing.

“Okay!” Sylvain shouted, watching warily as the troops dressed in dark Empire colours pressed closer. If his people didn’t listen now, they were all done for. And this might not even work. “We’re going to dodge left, as if we’re going into the thicket. I want everyone to split up for no more than twenty paces before we all draw back together.”

As it turned out, the change in tactics worked. Instead of pressing directly against a group with better numbers and much better equipment than them, the soldiers adapted quickly to continually putting the enemy off, forcing them to scatter and using that against them. No one could fight in snow like Faerghans - they just needed to maximise that ability as much as possible.

Eventually, after what felt like hours of small retreats, repeated calls to scatter and draw back together, and tens of corpses littered at Sylvain’s feet, the Dukedom’s forces pulled back in a hasty, clumsy retreat. Sylvain opted to let them go; if the whole group were slaughtered, it seemed likely the army would pull out of the area entirely.

He gathered up his soldiers, congratulated them on a job well done, and made his way back to cross the river at a safer point. With the battle won, they had someone to meet.

As expected, Felix was already back at their meeting point with his squadron. While the spot had initially only been their small medical tent, a fire pit, and a Kingdom banner, it was now filled with supplies. Looking around at the number of soldiers Felix had clustered around him, Sylvain could see that they must have all carried a bag of grain each.

“Felix!” he called, jogging the last section and making his way over to the other commander. “I take it your mission was a success?”

“Of course,” Felix said, and Sylvain caught him attempting to hide a smile. Yes, of course was probably the right word - he could always trust Felix to lead a small group of his own. Felix may not be a big commander, capable of leading an army or even a full set of troops, but any battalion that came under his command worked like a well oiled machine.

“Another victory under your stupid number of belts,” Sylvain said, and Felix laughed along with him, punching him lightly on the arm. Sylvain felt his stomach flip at the easy motion.

“They’re for my swords,” he said. “If one breaks during battle, I’ll always have another to hand. I could fight for hours with these.”

“You never have to fight for-”

“We’re under attack!” the call went up, and Sylvain watched as Felix instantly stood to attention. “Empire forces to the east!” Damn. They’d been followed across the river.

Felix fell into step at Sylvain’s left as Sylvain took a position at the head of their formation. He didn’t have to say a word; Felix would cover him without a second thought.

Fighting next to Felix came as naturally as breathing. When Sylvain lunged left, Felix moved as if he’d always known it would happen. He never felt like he had to hold back in any way while fighting next to him. He’d spent hours upon hours fighting Felix, studying his movements, and while beating him was next to impossible, he knew him very well.

He knew the way Felix ducked low when he fought, preferring to go for someone’s stomach than their chest. He knew that if Felix had any weaknesses at all, it was that he was hyper aware during battle and needed to be able to focus. Fighting next to someone helped him do that.

The attack on their camp had been doomed from the moment that their lookout spotted enemy soldiers. There was no way they would ever win, but Sylvain was still impressed by the way their two battalions melded together and fought them off. Within minutes, the Dukedom’s soldiers were sounding the retreat. Only a short while later, they were back to cooling off, preparing dinner, and letting themselves relax for a moment.

Sylvain tended to eat with Felix every night when they were working together. It was a way to go back to the old times at the Academy, just a little bit. They both knew, of course, that they couldn’t go back to those times anymore, but it was nice to pretend that things were a little lighter. That they didn’t know which of their classmates were dead or alive.

Felix excused himself briefly to pull on a thicker coat as night fell and the snow didn’t slow. Almost as soon as he was gone, one of Sylvain’s best soldiers slid into his place. Sylvain fixed him with a look, and received a sunny smile in reply. “What are you here for?” Sylvain asked, shooting him with a lopsided grin before continuing. “You know we don’t have the money to give you a raise.”

The man laughed and shook his head. “I know, I know,” he said. “I’m not asking for one. I just wanted to ask, well...it’s hard not to watch you and the Fraldarius lordling in battle.” Sylvain imagined Felix’s reaction had the man approached when he was still here; annoyed that it had been brought up, perhaps, but secretly pleased.

“Your point?” Sylvain asked. There must be something else if it could only be said in Felix’s absence.

The man shot a slightly nervous look in the direction of Felix’s tent - he was the only member of their small group who insisted on sleeping in a tent on his own. “Well, I was just wondering if you and him were...well, you know.” He winked. The penny dropped. Oh.  _ Oh. _

“No,” Sylvain said firmly, his mind whirling. “No, we’re not. We’re friends, so get your head out of the gutter.” The man looked slightly disappointed. “And take your money out of whatever betting pool you all have going on.”

He chuckled and stood up, moving away just as Felix left his tent. “Right you are, sir,” he said. “I lost anyway.”

“Also,” Sylvain said, stopping the soldier’s hasty retreat, “Gossiping isn’t the best look for a soldier.” He laughed along with his words, however. He had a reputation with his men as being a fairly easy going commander, and he wasn’t willing to jeopardise that over a simple misunderstanding. He knew he and Felix came off as very close; it was only natural that people would make assumptions.

Felix caught sight of his frown as he came to sit back beside him. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“No,” Sylvain lied. “Just something the men were saying. I didn’t find it very funny.” Felix shrugged and turned back to watching the fire, leaving Sylvain to his thoughts. He was, honestly, slightly horrified that his men thought he came off in that way.

Not that he didn’t want that kind of thing with Felix if Felix wanted it. It was just that...if people saw them both that way, maybe Sylvain was overstepping boundaries without realising it. Maybe he was putting pressure on Felix to respond in turn so he didn’t look rude.

On the other hand...Sylvain knew better than many people just how little Felix let people overstep his boundaries. If he was violating something, Felix would have reacted. But as it was, he hadn’t. They were as close as ever. Perhaps even closer than before.

And if that was the case, and Felix was responding to gestures that looked romantic...was that what he wanted? Sylvain was happy with the way they were, the closeness they’d developed. He didn’t find himself wanting more all that often, because he already had Felix’s time and attention far more often than he felt he deserved it.

That said, he would happily have more. He’d love to share Felix’s tent, or capture his lips against his own, or hold his hand by the fire to keep out the cold. If Felix wanted that, he’d do it all in an instant. But Sylvain was a coward and he didn’t want to give up what they had. So he kept quiet and tried to drive the hopeful thoughts from his mind.

* * *

The war wore on. They drifted in and out of battles like seeds buffeted about by the winds (winds which were too strong, and bit at their ears and fingers and toes and Sylvain was pretty sure he nearly lost a couple to frostbite once or twice).

Yet even though he had so many things to juggle, so many things on his mind all the time, Sylvain found himself thinking about Felix almost constantly. When he was in a meeting with his father to discuss coming strategies, he thought about which ones would let him see Felix again, or which aspects of the meeting he would communicate to Felix in a letter.

It wasn’t just then that he thought of Felix. He thought of Felix when it rained, because one night they had sheltered from the rain together in a village barn and huddled closer than was perhaps necessary to stay warm and dry. He thought of Felix when it snowed, and the sight of Felix silhouetted by the stark whiteness.

When there was sunshine, he thought of the way the light caught Felix’s eyes. At night, he ruminated on how the moonlight would play off his hair. Sylvain found himself imagining the way that hair would feel between his fingers, or what it would be like to braid it.

He didn’t just think of soft things that could never happen and moments he should never have filed away in his mind. He also worried about Felix, because of course he did.

Sure, maybe he shouldn’t be worried. Everything he’d experienced in the last few years told him that Felix was perfectly suited to war. He understood tactics. He was dedicated to making sure that people were safe and maybe happier than they would be without him. He felt most at home with a blade in his hand, and Sylvain knew all this well, but still...

The conflict weighed on them all heavily. Dimitri most of all, of course, as he’d already lost so much and had ever more to lose. But that didn’t mean it didn’t weigh on Sylvain. That it didn’t weigh on Felix. Of course, he didn’t know how Felix felt, exactly, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried.

When Sylvain was killing, he felt alive. The Lance of Ruin hummed in his hand like it was alive, but also like it was part of him. It filled him with a kind of warmth he couldn’t quite fathom if he liked or not, but it gave him energy anyway. It filled his movements with a buzz he couldn’t quite get off the battlefield.

But when he was no longer fighting, that feeling made him feel wrong. What kind of monster delighted in killing? What kind of beast decided that the most important thing in his life was the thrill that came when he picked up an object he could use to kill everyone around him? He couldn’t help but wonder about the terrifying possibility that one day he would snap just like Miklan did and hurt everyone.

Of course, he didn’t know if Felix felt anything like this. He didn’t know if Felix, who was so concerningly suited for war and seemingly nothing else, would actually even understand the way he felt. And there was no way in Ailell that Sylvain was going to drive a wedge between them by bringing it up.

And then there was another aspect to Felix being concerningly suited to war that came up in the way Sylvain had feared most.

“What do you mean?” Sylvain asked, looking at his father and trying not to leave his mouth open in shock. It was better not to show his father when he felt strong emotions. These days, Sylvain felt they could only be used against him - and that always meant it worked against seeing Felix again.

“I meant what I said,” he replied firmly. “You shouldn’t be spending so much time with the Fraldarius boy.”

“Why?” he asked. Felix was no coward; he was a good soldier, a fantastic commander. There was nothing about his conduct throughout the whole war, now three years old, that could be seen as in any way objectionable.

“The men are starting to talk about the younger Fraldarius as a frightening beast,” his father explained. “Lacking any kind of principles, and never consorting properly with many of the people who matter most. He may be suited to fighting, but if I were Duke Fraldarius I would be regretting the choice to reinstate him as heir. He won’t do well once the war is over. As such, maybe you don’t want to be connected with him in future.”

“That’s a bunch of shit,” Sylvain snapped. He was sick of hearing this argument. It had been ages since he’d heard it, years even, and he knew how much it hurt Felix. He wasn’t going to give it any time ever again.

“Mind your language, young man,” his father warned.

“No,” Sylvain said. “Fuck that. Fuck the idea that we should be thinking ten years into the future for all the political alliances that we’re going to make in a Kingdom that, by the way, lies in tatters right now. The politics doesn’t matter for shit. I won’t hear a word of it.”

His father sighed. “This is exactly the reason that you shouldn’t be speaking to him,” he said. “People will see the way he rubs off on you, the way you defend him. They’ll start talking of more unsavoury things, and there’s nothing you want to be seen of less than as a...one of  _ those people _ .”

“That’s completely baseless,” Sylvain said, even though he definitely was one of ‘those people’ that his father spoke of with venom in his voice. He’d long since learned that he shouldn’t ever even suggest it in conversation; it was far too much of a sore spot. It endangered the precious Crest. “And, again, years into the fucking future. If I work well with Felix now, I’ll work with him now.”

“And when the future does come,” his father shot back, “what will you do? Will you turn your back on a man that everyone knows is violent, and spend the rest of your life worrying that he’ll stab that back you showed him when you least expect it?”

“Felix is a man of principle, Father,” he said firmly. “Unlike you. And most importantly, Felix is my friend. I don’t keep my friends for the sake of any kind of political benefit they can give me. So fuck off and keep your thoughts about who I’m friends with to yourself.”

It was when his father stepped closer and raised his hand that they both realised the argument had gone far enough. He stopped, hand raised, and let out a long sigh through his nose. “Sylvain,” he said, his voice low and decidedly dangerous. There was a threat somewhere within it. “I think you should go.”

“I think I should, too.” This was not the first argument. Nor was it the second. It was the one that had gone the furthest, hit the hardest, but it was just an escalation of something that had been coming throughout the war. Maybe even before.

“Go to Fraldarius territory,” he said, and Sylvain could practically see him biting back “to be with your precious Fraldarius heir”. It didn’t matter if he bit it back; they both knew he was thinking it. “Your talents can be used better for this war if we’re not standing here arguing over everything instead of getting the battle done.”

“I agree,” Sylvain said, watching his father’s hand warily. His father, his brother...Sylvain knew how he felt when he held the Lance of Ruin. Did that kind of anger exist within him too? The ability to hurt someone he was supposed to love?

He didn’t know. He didn’t want to think about it - but then again, he didn’t know what kind of person he’d end up with in this tale of who he was ‘meant to love’. Whether there’d be any love involved at all.

But for now, that wasn’t important. What was important was that his father was telling him to leave, and he was perfectly fine with that. He could go and focus on the war and everything else would just have to wait until things were back to normal. If normal could exist ever again.

Rodrigue welcomed him gladly into his territory. The argument that had happened must have been shared with him at least a little, but he didn’t mention it. Sylvain was glad for that, at least.

Being around Felix was good too. He was used to living in the same space as him from their time at the Academy, and this was very different to that, but it was nice all the same. There were far more opportunities to see him than there had been when he was living in Gautier

Sometimes, he fought alongside Felix, which always worked well. They meshed together just as well as always, even with the words of his father weighing on him. Sometimes he fought without Felix, and that was the same as always too. Nothing really changed now he was in Fraldarius, except he didn’t have to worry about the fear that came with having to talk to his father.

Everything was fine. The war was hard, of course, and they weren’t making any progress at all, and eventually they all knew that something would go wrong and they’d lose everything in one fell swoop, but for now they were fine. Surviving.

Except, naturally, not everything was fine. And it only took a couple of moments for Sylvain to see that in stark clarity.

He hadn’t spent much time with Dimitri in the three years of war that had now happened. From Felix’s frequent letters, he’d gathered what the issue was - Dimitri wasn’t well. Physically he was fine, usually, though he seemed a little prone to illness.

No, it was mentally where Dimitri was struggling. Felix didn’t go into details, but Sylvain knew almost as well as Felix did that putting Dimitri on the battlefield was a bad idea. There was nothing good about anyone seeing the way Dimitri could get if something went wrong.

It wasn’t that Dimitri was a violent person, even if Felix said as much. Sylvain was absolutely sure that there was...something else. Dimitri had so many feelings that were clearly intensely overwhelming, and sometimes that got to be too much.

He hadn’t known even half of it until he came to live in Fraldarius properly. One night, a rare night when they were all present in the castle and actually had the time to share a meal together, Dimitri was uncharacteristically quiet. Sylvain watched as the cutlery bent beneath his fingers.

Then the moment came. Dimitri spoke, but not to any of them. To someone else who wasn’t in the room. Felix looked at his father, and then back at Dimitri. “Dimitri,” he said, standing.

Dimitri blinked at him, as if he’d barely been aware he was there at all. “Felix,” he replied. He also stood. “I was just going to excuse myself, I’m feeling a little run down. You don’t have to come with me.” His gaze panned over Sylvain and Rodrigue, still seated. “Thank you for the meal.”

He turned to go, and Felix went to go with him. Sylvain nearly stood himself, but Rodrigue caught his eye and shook his head, a decidedly sad look on his face. “Not now,” he murmured.

Sylvain saw why almost immediately. When Dimitri reached the door to leave the room, he twisted round to face Felix, who was still following. “I said to leave me be,” he snapped. “You don’t need to follow me. I’m just going up to my room.”

“No you’re not,” Felix said. “You’re going out to the stables, and from there you’re going to take a horse and try to ride all the way to the Empire.” Dimitri’s movements halted for just a moment, and Sylvain tried not to watch as his face twisted into an ugly expression.

“You don’t know what I need,” he said, and his voice was suddenly so much lower than before. He’d thrown off all the little graces that had come with Prince Dimitri. This was something else: the Dimitri Sylvain had seen parts of in their final months at the Academy, or when they were out in the forest. “And if you stand in my way I will not hesitate to cut you down. What’s one more corpse on the pile?”

“Come on, Dimitri,” Felix said, his tone turning hard. “We’re going up to your room. And there, I can explain to you exactly what I’m doing by preventing you from rushing into a situation where you’ll get yourself killed.”

With that, Felix and Dimitri practically lunged at each other, and Felix pushed Dimitri out into the hallway, slamming the door behind him. Or maybe he’d been pulled. Either way, they were gone, leaving Sylvain and Rodrigue sat in silence with food that had now gone thoroughly cold.

Rodrigue let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said. Sylvain wasn’t sure he liked the tone that entered his voice, but who was he to judge? He’d sat there and done nothing as Dimitri threatened Felix’s  _ life _ . “That’s not either of them at their best.”

“Is he going to be alright?” Sylvain asked. He wasn’t sure if he was asking about Felix or Dimitri.

Rodrigue decided for himself. “Dimitri will be fine,” he said. “This...happens. Sometimes it happens frequently, sometimes sparingly. I thought he was getting better, but he- he clearly sees and hears things beyond our imagining. It doesn’t leave him in the best of mindsets to make clear decisions about his next course of action, but he’ll be fine. Felix is rather skilled at reasoning with him.”

That was good to hear, at least, but something about it sat uneasily with Sylvain. Of course, there wasn’t much to be done other than reasoning with Dimitri until he came to the conclusion that he shouldn’t ride to the Empire on his own. But something felt wrong.

He finished up the food in front of him, trying not to show the poor cook that it sat in his stomach like a stone. It wasn’t her fault, after all. And when he excused himself and went up to his room, he didn’t turn left to go to his own quarters. He turned right.

About halfway down the corridor, a servant stopped him. “Master Gautier,” he said, looking a little frantic. “The young lord Fraldarius left me a message for you if you came this way.”

“Go on,” Sylvain said.

“He said that I should tell you to go back to your room,” he said, “and not worry about what’s happening here, because he has it under control.”

“Not going to happen,” he said. He wanted to check that Dimitri was okay, even if Rodrigue had assured him several more times that he would be. He wanted to check that Felix was okay.

He chuckled nervously. “He said you might say that,” he said. “And he told me that if you did, then you should stay here and make sure no one can come in. Is that alright with you?”

“Yes,” he said. Felix knew him well enough to know that the former option was never one he’d choose. “Thank you for passing that on, I’ll stay here.”

The servant nodded and practically ran back down the corridor. It wasn’t until Sylvain stood right in front of the door that he realised why he’d been in such a hurry to get away.

“...tell me, Felix, they tell me all the time. I must follow their words, they’ll never be at peace if I do not.” In contrast with the menacing sound from earlier, Dimitri now sounded...distressed.

“They’re not real, Dimitri.” Felix’s voice was firm in comparison. Dimitri made a noise Sylvain couldn’t decipher. “They can’t do anything to you if you don’t follow what they want.”

“They get louder and louder,” Dimitri replied. “I cannot think through all their pleas. I must at least lay them to rest in the way they deserve.”

“And how are you going to do that?” The conversation went on and on and on. Dimitri wanted to go, wanted to finally put the ghosts he saw to the final rest they deserved. There was nothing he could do other than kill Edelgard to achieve that, in his mind.

Felix told him, time and again, to stay. Told him that no one would be laid to rest if Dimitri died in a hopeless assault. And when Dimitri’s words sputtered out, Felix kept talking. Once, twice, the cycle started again, Dimitri unable to accept that the time would come when they were in a better position to get the revenge he sorely believed his dead family needed.

Eventually, though… “I’m sorry, Felix,” Dimitri said, his voice low. He sounded absolutely exhausted.

“It’s fine,” Felix said. “I’m used to this by now. Just go to bed and get some rest, you clearly need it.”

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Dimitri replied, a note of hope entering his voice.

“Maybe,” Felix responded. There was something a little cagey to his voice. A tone Felix only ever got when he was talking to or about Dimitri - Sylvain could almost see the crease on his forehead, the frown marking his face.

Silence fell, and Sylvain stepped away from the door. He didn’t want Dimitri to see that he’d been here all that time - he didn’t know how Dimitri would even feel about that. Sylvain didn’t know how  _ he  _ felt about it, even, but he wouldn’t want it to upset Dimitri further than he clearly already was.

A few moments later, Felix stepped out of the room, closing the door slowly and quietly behind him. His lips moved in a nearly-silent murmur that Sylvain didn’t catch, and then he looked up, surprise on his face when he met Sylvain’s gaze.

And god did Felix look absolutely exhausted. His eyes were half closed, his posture sagged, and there was something about his whole demeanour that just made Sylvain want to… “Should we head back to your room?” he asked. Wordlessly, Felix nodded, his hand straying towards the wall so he could lean against it as they went.

Halfway down the hall, Felix stopped walking. His limbs were shaking, his whole body trembling, and Sylvain offered an arm to him, hoping it would help. Instead, Felix let out a shuddering sigh, and Sylvain realised what he needed to do. He opened his arms and Felix practically fell into them.

Felix didn’t cry. He never did. But he was shaking so violently that he could barely stand. Sylvain kept his arms enclosed around his back for a few minutes, and when it didn’t subside, he murmured into Felix’s ear. “Should I carry you to bed?” he asked.

Felix stilled, and Sylvain was distinctly reminded of all the times he got everything wrong and pushed Felix further away. This time, however, Felix nodded against his chest, and Sylvain lifted him from the ground. Goddess, Felix was heavier than he looked, but Sylvain could manage it.

When they reached Felix’s room, Sylvain nudged the door open. He hadn’t been in Felix’s room since he arrived or even since the Tragedy, but it was very familiar. The only difference was a handful of items from their shared childhood that had now disappeared (the dolls, along with the toy soldiers and animals, were gone) and a few that had taken their place (swords, unsurprisingly).

Even in the near complete darkness of the room, it was easy to make his way to the bed. Sylvain set Felix down slightly awkwardly on the pile of blankets arranged in a loose heap. Almost immediately, Felix curled up in them and adjusted himself. The crease on his forehead lessened a little.

“Hey, Felix…” Sylvain started. He didn’t know where he was going with this, honestly. He didn’t know where Felix wanted this to go, or what Felix needed to hear. He didn’t reply; Sylvain wasn’t expecting him to, especially not after everything that had just happened. “It’s just fine to be overwhelmed, okay?”

Felix looked up, and Sylvain continued. “There’s a lot going on right now. And I know that technically, neither of us have the worst of all of this. In the end, we’ll both be fine as long as this all ends eventually. We’re not gonna starve, or die of plague, or- you get the picture. Sorry, I’m rambling.

“The point is that even though things are relatively good for you, you don’t have to feel like you have to take everything on. Dimitri’s wellbeing is important to you, I know - it’s important to all of us, don’t look at me like that.” Felix’s grimace lessened slightly; his eyes were closed, but he was definitely still listening. “It’s okay to feel like this is too much. But if it is, then I’m here for you. I’m always here for you.”

In the strange stillness left by all the words Sylvain had been waiting weeks to say, it felt like there was something in the air between them. Something intangible but somehow wonderful. Felix reached out in the darkness, and Sylvain gladly took his hand. “Stay?” Felix murmured.

Sylvain smiled, and though he knew Felix couldn’t see it, he could trust he knew it was there. “Of course,” he said. He moved to pull his boots off, keeping Felix’s hand firmly in his, and then leaned over. “I’m going to take your shoes off.” Felix grunted, which he took as a yes.

Once that was done, he laid down next to Felix’s curled up form, still holding his hand. He was glad for the warmth Felix’s body provided as he closed his eyes - his mind had been whirling so much that he hadn’t realised just how tired he was. When his eyes slid closed, a smile was forming on his face, and he finally felt a little more at peace.

* * *

The next few days were...different. Sylvain hadn’t realised just how much what he had seen and heard meant to Felix, but it became apparent almost immediately. When they woke together, Felix suggested they share breakfast in his room.

“Dimitri isn’t doing well,” Felix started, stabbing an egg that he’d fetched from the kitchens. There was a fairly decent spread between them, clearly meant for the main breakfast table they both normally ate at each morning. 

“I could hear,” Sylvain said. “I saw.”

“That doesn’t happen often,” Felix responded. “He’s not like that all the time. But those feelings...they weigh on him every day. I’ve tried shouting at him, telling him the ghosts aren’t real. I’ve tried comforting him. I’ve tried everything I can manage, and the only thing that seems to work is waiting for him to reach breaking point and talking him back down again.”

This was something that never came across in Felix’s letters; the words were there, and some of them were the same, but the desperation in his tone, the fear in his eyes… “It’s not your fault,” Sylvain said.

Felix stabbed his egg more aggressively. His bacon, Sylvain noticed, was already gone. “I know,” he said. “I didn’t do any of this to him. I wasn’t there when it happened. But I still want to help him, and I can’t.”

“It’s not your job,” Sylvain tried, and Felix just stared at him.

“Of course it’s my job,” he replied. “Who else is going to do it?”

Okay, Felix sort of had him there. Who else would be able to restrain Dimitri when he needed to be? Who was going to talk him down in the way he needed? “It shouldn’t just be you,” he said. Felix was still running his fork through those eggs. He clearly didn’t want to eat them.

“My father thinks I have a handle on it,” he said. “I think he ignores the way Dimitri really is sometimes. He doesn’t want to see it.” There was something softer to his tone, though, compared to the way Sylvain was used to hearing Felix talk about his father.

“Do you want my bacon?” he asked. The conversation topic wasn’t helping Felix. Neither of them had any solutions. And, as Sylvain knew, the next best tactic was avoidance.

Felix looked at him slightly strangely. “It’s yours,” he said.

“I’ll trade,” he offered. “Your eggs, my bacon.” Felix looked down at the slightly distressed eggs on his plate and then over at Sylvain’s bacon.

“If you insist,” he said, reaching over and stabbing a couple of thin bacon slices on his fork. As he did so, Sylvain reached over to scrape the eggs from his plate. A beat passed. The tiny puncture scars on Sylvain’s hand twinged, but nothing happened.

It wasn’t just eating together. They were busy that day, and the next, and then for the whole week following, but once the several simultaneous crises calmed down, Felix invited Sylvain to spar with him again. “The season for open combat is mostly over,” he explained, “but I’m not even giving you a chance to get rusty. Come on.”

The match they had was interesting. Sylvain hadn’t fought Felix in years now; there was never the time, and they spent so much time fighting anyway that only Felix would ever do more of it for fun. And while he still ended each and every match with a sword at his throat or with his back hitting hard against the ground, things were different.

In those years fighting side by side, apparently Sylvain had learned how to judge the way Felix moved. What had once been strange, unfamiliar, and completely outside the way most soldiers moved was now something Sylvain knew like the back of his hand. Sure, he couldn’t beat Felix - and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to with the way Felix always continued to train himself - but he could hold his own much better.

And last of all, well. Sylvain had got a taste of sleeping in the same space as Felix when they were at the Academy together. He’d never forgotten it, because he never would (Felix’s warmth against his shoulder, his hair tickling Sylvain’s neck), but with the time they’d spent together since he came to stay in Fraldarius, Sylvain wanted more of it.

He wanted the feeling of Felix’s body next to his. He wanted to share the blankets with him, fall asleep hearing his breathing, and wake up with their hands interlocked. Sylvain had it bad, and he just wanted more and more with every passing second he spent in Felix’s presence.

Which led him to that moment, standing in his nightclothes in the corridor outside Felix’s room, his knuckles hesitating. He didn’t know what he was so afraid of; Felix telling him no? Or what would come if Felix said yes? Even though Sylvain told himself he didn’t care, the thought of this getting back to his father was...he didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about the kinds of things his father would say.

And then he remembered what he’d told himself: he wasn’t going to let other people’s opinions rule his interactions with Felix. So Sylvain knocked.

Felix opened the door lightning fast, as if he’d already been standing there. “Sylvain,” he greeted. “What do you want at this hour?”

“It’s, uh. My room is cold. Can I sleep here tonight?” Sylvain actually hadn’t thought about how to justify his presence, which looked like a pretty hefty oversight now. His feet had just moved when he couldn’t sleep and maybe he’d mulled it over all day and hadn’t actually thought of a good reason, but…

“Sure,” Felix said, though he didn’t actually look convinced by Sylvain’s words. Fair enough; they hadn’t been convincing at all.

So he stayed, and it was just as good as he’d imagined. And maybe he stayed the next day, with an equally poor excuse about a drafty window. And then a leak that didn’t exist, and then mice that the castle didn’t have.

After that, Sylvain stopped making up excuses to show up at Felix’s door. He knocked, Felix answered, and they slept side by side until dawn crept through the curtains and they reluctantly separated again.

Within a week of that, Sylvain stopped waiting for Felix to come to the door after knocking. He always knocked, because he’d never forget the way Felix looked at him years ago when Sylvain unknowingly trespassed, but he felt like some of those boundaries that had once been clearly marked were now falling apart. And it wasn’t in a bad way.

No, they fell apart in the only good way. They fell apart in mornings before Felix woke up with Sylvain musing on how peaceful he looked when asleep. They fell apart in casual touches of their hands under the dining room’s table when Rodrigue and Dimitri were talking to each other. They fell apart in moments that stretched on in silence with nothing but enjoying each other’s company, and in moments where words filled the space between them that never felt empty.

“He needs to take more time to himself,” Felix admitted. In daylight, you’d never catch him saying a good word about his father, but when it was just the two of them sat close under a shared blanket, the truth came easier. “He’s not as young as he was, and we can ill afford to lose him.”

It went unsaid that Felix didn’t  _ want _ to lose his father. Sylvain didn’t point out the hidden truth. “You can only trust he knows his limits,” he replied. Rodrigue was a smart and experienced man. He knew more of himself than either of them could ever hope to, and Sylvain only hoped that was enough.

“He takes too much on,” Felix continued. Sylvain didn’t know if he’d listened to his words or not, but he supposed it didn’t matter. They were an empty reassurance, nothing more. “Especially with Dimitri here...Dimitri is practically his son. He wants him to be well, and if he can’t secure that, he’ll just keep trying.”

“And you don’t know if Dimitri  _ can _ be well,” Sylvain said, completing the thought. They’d spoken about Dimitri on a handful of occasions; Felix worried about him all the time.

Felix nodded. “My father can’t stop putting pressure on himself until Dimitri is fine and on the throne. Dimitri is in no state to accept the crown, and the expectation to do so makes him more worried about it. They’re at an impasse and neither of them can get what they want or need.”

Sylvain didn’t know what to say. Felix’s words sounded right, yet he wanted to reassure him. It was a bleak outlook with no real solution. So instead, he moved his hand in slow circles on Felix’s back. Felix leaned into his touch, but the tension remained. “I’m afraid of the future,” Felix admitted.

“Me too,” Sylvain said, keeping his voice gentle. When Felix didn’t elaborate, he continued. “It’s not just your father or Dimitri. I...you know why I’m here, right?”

Felix’s breathing halted for a moment. He blinked. “In Fraldarius?” he asked. Sylvain nodded, and Felix sighed. “You argued with your father. I was told a little, but not the specifics. I didn’t think it was all that important, since it’s strategically beneficial for you to be down here.”

“It wasn’t the first argument,” he explained. “We’ve argued a lot. I know it’s pretty normal for father and son to argue, and we were never going to see eye to eye on everything, but...it’s not like you and your father, where you can eat in the same room, work for the same cause and put aside your differences.” 

Felix scrunched up his face, but eventually nodded. “Your father is an asshole,” he said simply. Sylvain let out a laugh he hoped didn’t sound too humourless. “So, you argue. I argue with my father, Ingrid argues with hers. What’s the problem?”

“I think it might- I don’t know. I think our relationship is pretty close to breaking down permanently. I remember the things my father used to say before he kicked Miklan out for good, and we’re getting pretty close to those.” He closed his eyes before opening them again almost immediately, trying not to see the way his father had raised his hand against him. “One day he might not take me back.”

Felix frowned. “You don’t even like your father.”

“Yeah, but…” It wasn’t a matter of his father liking him. That ship had long since sailed, and there wasn’t much point in worrying about it anymore. It was about the inheritance, about the future of his family, his lands, his people. He tried hard not to care about it, but it still weighed on him.

It was Felix’s turn to put his arm around Sylvain, leaning into his side. It helped. “I know.”

“When the war ends,” Sylvain said, “I don’t know what will be the same, what’ll be different. This is going to shape our whole lives, Felix. I can feel it. But I don’t know how it’ll shape it, or what we’ll have to do when this is all done. Or what will be expected of me. It could be anything, but-”

“I feel the same,” Felix said, interrupting him before he could ramble any more. It wouldn’t help him, he knew that. Felix knew that. “Once this is done, if it’s ever done, where do I go next? I was going to be training as the heir to Fraldarius once my time at the Academy was done, but now…”

Sylvain knew what being an heir meant. Felix knew what being an heir meant. Neither of them were going to say it, so Sylvain took Felix’s hand in his instead. He didn’t want to think about what the end of the war would bring on that front. “I’m so used to war,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t know how I’m going to cope when it’s over.”

Felix’s sigh was shaky in response. “I’ve been thinking about it too,” he admitted. “Fighting feels so right. When I have a sword in my hand and an enemy in front of me, I know what to do. I know how to plan a battle, how to supply or defend a village. I don’t know what I’ll do when there’s no more of that. I’m...scared I might not like what I’ll do.”

“Me too,” Sylvain said. He thought of the nightmares he’d been having, on and off, of his lance in Felix’s chest. He wondered if Felix had been seeing something similar. “But hey, we’ll just have to help each other through it. That works, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Felix said, his voice quiet. “We’ll make it through together.”  _ I promise _ .

* * *

“Sylvain,” Dimitri said. Sylvain had been living in the Fraldarius castle for moons now, and he was getting used to the way Dimitri was now. Quieter, more withdrawn, and a hundred other things. It was rare that he approached anyone.

“What can I do for you, your Highness?” Sylvain asked with a wink. Dimitri blinked at him and continued speaking.

“Are you in love with Felix?”

Sylvain, who’d been polishing a lance, ground to a halt. His hands froze on the weapon’s tip, the cloth hovering just above the surface. Was he in love with Felix? Sure, Sylvain found Felix attractive. And they were close. But the former was pretty...well, it was pretty normal, wasn’t it?

“I mean, I’d go for Felix,” he said, trying to keep his tone as casual as possible. He was realising something here. He didn’t need Dimitri to realise it along with him. “He’s attractive. Ridiculously attractive, and I bet he’d be great in- Dimitri?”

Dimitri was laughing at him. Sylvain hadn’t heard Dimitri laugh in a long time. “Sylvain,” Dimitri said again, looking over at where Felix was running through drills with several Fraldarius soldiers. “Would you say Felix is attractive right now?”

Sylvain followed Dimitri’s gaze. Felix was covered in sweat, his biceps glistening in the sunlight. His face was twisted up in an expression that he only really got when he was shouting orders to soldiers. It was hot, seeing him take charge like that and be so...competent. Confident. “Super attractive.”

“Really?” he asked. Dimitri didn’t smile much, but there was a small smile on his face now. “Because I’m not sure how many people would say that.” And with that unhelpful statement, Dimitri left the training grounds, leaving Sylvain alone with his thoughts.

Troubling thoughts. Was he in love with Felix? Dimitri clearly thought so. Attraction to someone that other people didn’t find attractive wasn’t exactly an indicator of love, though. Everyone was beautiful in their own way, and Sylvain didn’t just say that as a pick up line.

A pick up line that he hadn’t been using all that much lately, because there was no reason to go out into the town at night, no reason to flirt with the maids at Fraldarius. Why? Because Sylvain always prioritised taking that time to spend it with Felix.

He hadn’t felt the need to go out and kiss someone he didn’t know, because...well, Felix. He spent most of his time daydreaming about what it would feel like to have Felix’s lips on his, and the thought of anyone else wasn’t at all appealing. But that wasn’t love, that was just attraction. Just the lust that Sylvain felt for all the damn people in the world apparently.

Unless it wasn’t. Unless…

Sylvain would happily spend every hour he had with Felix, if he could. He could talk with Felix until the early hours of the morning if they didn’t have other things to do. He could imagine taking Felix’s face tenderly between his hands and lifting his chin up to his lips and…

Yeah, okay, maybe he was in love with Felix.

With that realisation over with, Sylvain honestly expected lots of things to change. There were so many things he could say and plenty more things he should probably do, like breaking off with Felix entirely so neither of them could get hurt by Sylvain’s inability to hold a relationship down.

He felt like maybe things would be harder. That without the words in his mouth, without Felix knowing exactly how he felt, he’d feel too guilty to act on the easy intimacy that had formed between them. 

Instead, it was...well, it was easy. Just as it always had been. If anything, it felt more natural than before, and Sylvain could finally let the true warmth of his feelings flow free, if only in his mind.

It was so easy to just keep up the routines they’d built for themselves. Sometimes they fought in battles, sometimes they debated strategies with the dwindling numbers of lords that could still afford to support them. As Dimitri grappled with his ghosts more successfully, they let him out on the battlefield occasionally.

Sometimes things went well, sometimes they went poorly. Sometimes they lost a village to the Dukedom, sometimes they destroyed a whole platoon of Empire soldiers. But regardless of the outcome, Sylvain knew that at the end of the day, he could go back to Felix and they would sleep in each other’s arms.

That, at least, was always wonderful, and always the same. They talked about their fears, their hopes, the little mundane facts of life. They didn’t talk about enjoined hands or fingers carded through soft hair. They didn’t talk about the possibility of a kiss, still unfulfilled. Sylvain was content to leave that unsaid.

Three and three quarter years into the war, Sylvain forgot to write a letter to his father that moon. He found that, actually, he didn’t care, and he didn’t even realise that it had been forgotten. His father didn’t ask after him in his far more regular letters to Rodrigue, and none of the official dispatches from Gautier even mentioned their slightly wayward heir.

Every so often, Sylvain attached a little note to the dispatch that went back to Gautier. They were for official business, mostly, but there was no sense in sending a separate courier for a letter that didn’t matter. They were short notes: ‘I’m still alive.’ ‘I hope mother is well.’ ‘I fought well; you can be proud of my lancework.’

They were unimportant, just as Sylvain was to his father. Just as his father was to him. The moons wore on, and three and a bit years turned into four. Four turned into four and a half, and he was never recalled back to his territory to fight on any of the fronts that were open there. The argument between him and his father no longer raged on, but in its place there was...nothing much at all.

And Sylvain found that maybe he didn’t think of that place as home anymore. He didn’t bother to wonder when he would next be asked to return. Home was where Felix was; where they could share their bed and warmth and lose sight of some of the worries of the wider world for just a short while.

Felix wouldn’t be going up to Gautier, so Sylvain felt content to stay down south. And when Dimitri suggested they move on Garreg Mach as the five year anniversary of their time at the Academy approached, Sylvain didn’t even hesitate.

Felix was going, so he would follow. Because he loved him, and beyond victory in war, there was nothing else in life that Sylvain cared for.


	6. The Past Emerging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in this chapter for: implied past abuse, (resolution of) hints at an unhealthy relationship, offscreen canonical character death, a bit of blood, and a smidge of violence

When they arrived in Garreg Mach, Sylvain was honestly pretty surprised to see Byleth. He didn’t know why he’d never considered the possibility that they could be alive - it had never seemed likely - but there they were.

And honestly? It wasn’t all that big a deal. Sure, Byleth had the loyalty of the Church, which meant that things were going to be easier from here on out. But as things went, this wasn’t even that much stranger than the things he’d already experienced as part of this war.

What was a big deal though, was, well...Sylvain had a reputation with his friends from back at the Academy. They saw him in a particular way, and Sylvain didn’t know how to disrupt that expectation they had. It felt wrong, somehow, and he didn’t want to answer the questions it would open up.

He couldn’t have that same routine he’d had back in the Academy of going out every night and sleeping with anyone who looked at him funny. Because now, at the end of a day, he had to go to Felix’s room and curl up next to him. Well he didn’t have to, but he wanted to. He wanted it badly.

He just didn’t know how to tell his old friends that this was exactly what he was doing.

“Hey, Sylvain, do you have any plans for tonight?” Ashe asked. He’d been talking to Annette and Mercedes about the possibility of discussing a book together. They’d been working on ways to wind down at the end of a busy day, and this was one of them. Apparently, they wanted to invite Sylvain.

“Oh, yeah, you know me,” he answered without thinking. He pushed a strand of hair back behind his ear. “Always doing things, that’s me. This town has been without the wonders of Sylvain Jose Gautier for far too long, so I’m going to be off correcting that.”

“Oh, okay,” came Ashe’s response. He looked...disappointed? Which was normal, he supposed. If someone hadn’t changed for the better in five years then of course they’d be disappointed. But Sylvain wasn’t one to subvert their expectations, even if he supposed he had changed. “Have fun.”

“Oh I will,” he said with a wink, before he took the meal he’d just collected to sit with Felix. Felix looked at him strangely, but didn’t say anything. He’d been very quiet since they got back to the Academy; processing things, he’d told Sylvain.

Sylvain tried not to worry. Felix could work these things out for himself, he knew.

The next morning at breakfast, Annette asked him what time he’d made it back to the monastery the night before. Sylvain, remembering that he was meant to have been out until the early hours of the morning rather than sleeping with Felix curled around him, poured himself another coffee.

“Oh,” he said, laughing in a way he hoped didn’t sound too empty. Or did he used to put on that he felt empty, in the hope that someone would give him a good reason to stop? He didn’t actually know anymore. “You don’t want to know.”

Felix coughed into his slightly suspicious looking meat (their supply chain wasn’t fantastic yet, okay? There was only so much you could do in a mountain range), and Sylvain leaned over to pinch his lettuce, and then remembered what had happened last time he did that in the presence of his schoolmates. He pulled back. Annette stared at them both with a frown.

“If you’re sure,” she said. “Honestly, Sylvain, I would have thought you’d know better when we’re, you know, in the middle of a war and stuff.”

This time, Sylvain’s laugh definitely sounded empty. “I can’t be getting too rusty,” he replied. “You never know when the war will end and suddenly there’ll be lots of ladies just dying for a stable future.”

Annette screwed up her face in a mild look of disgust this time. Too far? Maybe too far to be believable? “You really never change,” she said. She slid her plate down the table to get closer to where Dimitri was eating, silent as a stone.

Ouch. If Dimitri made for better conversation than him then Sylvain didn’t know what that implied about what he’d just said. Oops.

And Felix...Felix stewed. He stared at his plate. He stabbed the food in front of him and resolutely did not talk to Sylvain. He must have done something wrong. Finally, he’d done it. He’d managed to push Felix away. Sylvain had known it would happen at some point, but he felt something painful seize his heart anyway. He wondered if he could take whatever he’d said or done back.

“You’ve been distant,” Felix said that evening. They were already both in bed, and Felix’s words were close to his ear.

“Felix, I’m right next to you,” he said. He couldn’t see Felix’s face, but he could basically see the scowl he was shooting him anyway.

“You’ve been...you won’t interact with me properly in public,” he complained. “And you won’t admit that we do this at night, even when people ask you directly. Why?”

Something turned to stone in Sylvain’s throat. “Why do you care?” he asked.

“It’s a change,” Felix replied, his voice much harder than anything Sylvain had heard from him in years. “I don’t care, I just want to know why.”

That...stung. Sylvain felt something painful work its way into his heart and he opened his mouth without thinking. It was easy to say anything when he wasn’t even looking at Felix. “Because that’s who I am. I can tell them that, can’t I?”

“But why?” Felix asked. “It’s not true. You’re better than the person you pretend to be, so why tell them otherwise? If you’re a bad person, act like one.”

“It’s not like I’m going to just ditch you,” Sylvain said. “I couldn’t.” Because he loved him. “Because I’m the only person who understands you. How heartless would I have to be to abandon you for what other people think about me?”

Felix’s breathing stopped for a moment. The warmth of his body against Sylvain’s withdrew a little, and Sylvain tried not to let the ice in his heart enter the rest of his body. Things were going wrong and he was doing it. He didn’t know how to stop it. He didn’t know if he should. “Stop there,” Felix said. “And tell me what you think that sounds like.”

Felix was right. Goddess, Felix was right and he was acting like a terrible person. If he didn’t do something right now, Felix would go away believing that Sylvain felt like he had to spend time with him because no one else would.

Worse, Felix would go away with the impression that Sylvain only wanted him because Felix wouldn’t have anyone better to go to. And Sylvain was really, really bad at caring about people, but that didn’t sit right with him.

He turned over, trying to look into Felix’s eyes. Felix stared back at him, his chin tilted upwards in challenge. He wanted Sylvain to say something. Wanted him to prove that he was a terrible person.

And he may be a terrible person, but he was a terrible person that wanted Felix. So he opened his mouth and said the only thing he could think of that gave him any hope of solving the terrible things he’d just implied. He could just act, but if he knew anything about Felix… 

“Can I kiss you?”

Their bedroom was dark, but Sylvain could still see the way he flushed. “Yeah. Sure. But you have to apologise later.”

Sylvain closed his eyes and leaned in. He hadn’t kissed anyone in over five years, and he was way more out of practise than he’d expected to be. First, his nose bumped against Felix’s. He winced, withdrew, and tried again, this time tilting his head to the side and catching Felix’s lips against his.

It was...okay, maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it was _perfect._ It was wonderful. It was more than Sylvain had ever dreamed he’d be able to share with Felix and something about it just made his heart swell a little.

And then- ouch. Pain lanced through Sylvain’s bottom lip, and he opened his eyes, seeing Felix’s shoot open at the same time. His face was flushed, his pupils slightly wider. “I think you bit me,” Sylvain said, and ouch, yeah, Felix definitely bit him.

When Felix withdrew, there was a tiny smear of blood on his lips. “It’s bleeding a lot,” he muttered. “Shit, sorry.”

Sylvain laughed. He didn’t know why, exactly, because fuck it hurt and he was scrabbling for a handkerchief or something to stem it, but it was… “It’s just like us,” he said with a chuckle. “Why are we always like this?”

“Always?” Felix asked, a small smile forming on his face. Sylvain leaned over with his handkerchief and wiped the tiny spot of blood off Felix’s lips before returning his attention to his own.

“A little bit messy,” Sylvain explained, and Felix snorted, “but we’ll muddle through. And with a bit of time, it’ll all be okay.” Felix’s smile widened, showing teeth that Sylvain now knew were exactly as sharp as they looked.

Sylvain was struck with the thought that this was the best thing he’d seen in his life.

* * *

After that, Sylvain knew not to avoid Felix in any way. In fact, he was happy to do the exact opposite - he made it his priority to spend as much time with Felix in public as possible. Just so everyone, Felix included, knew the truth; he was not embarrassed to be associated with him. Not in any form.

The next day, when the whole army was taking lunch together, Sylvain made sure to grab a little bit more meat than he maybe should have and made his way over to where Felix was already sitting, Ashe opposite him.

“Hey, Felix,” he said, sliding into the seat next to him. Their knees knocked against each other for a moment, and Felix shifted slightly to be just a little bit closer to Sylvain’s chair. Sylvain tried to ignore the fact that Ashe was very obviously staring at them.

“Morning, Sylvain,” he said. “What were you up to earlier? You didn’t come to drills.”

Sylvain rubbed the back of his head. “The Professor wanted me,” he explained. “I’m sure you’ll put me through my paces later.” He winked, and Ashe and Felix spluttered in unison.

“It’s not like that,” Felix explained hurriedly to Ashe, who had flushed bright crimson. Ashe nodded, but he still looked a bit like he was going to explode. “It’s not! Goddess, Sylvain. We’re in a public place.”

“So we are,” he said, reaching for Felix’s left hand under the table. Felix swatted his hand away initially, and then took it. Ashe’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Do you- are you two having a moment? Do you need me to leave?” Ashe asked.

“No, not at all,” Sylvain said. “Nothing unusual going on here at all, don’t worry.”

Ashe looked a little awkward, and also like he was bursting with questions, but to his credit he kept his mouth shut on that issue and they all had a nice, normal lunch. The tension Sylvain had been feeling when eating with Felix for weeks now vanished in a moment. Goddess, he really should have done something about this sooner.

A couple of days later, Empire forces were sighted near the monastery. It was clear an attack was coming, so Byleth called a tactics meeting and Sylvain absolutely pestered Felix to come. Felix’s argument that he’d always been useless in strategy classes at the Academy was a complete...well, it was a bit of a farce, because Felix had more experience than almost any of them by this point.

Once Felix, sitting on the fine line between ‘being on time’ and ‘being just late enough to pretend he didn’t actually care’ made his way into the tactics meeting and sat down, Sylvain got up out of his seat (after apologising to Ingrid) and made his way to sit by Felix. Felix pretended not to be pleased, but the way he kissed Sylvain once they were back in the privacy of their room told Sylvain otherwise.

As the Empire’s army drew ever closer, the Professor posted them on frequent watch parties with instructions to run back to the monastery with any news on enemy movements the moment they spotted something. Sylvain made sure to ask that he and Felix could be on watch together - they knew how to work well together anyway.

“Does Felix mind that you two are always together?” Byleth asked when Sylvain requested that, when it came to the inevitable battles to come, he be paired up with Felix to fight alongside him. “You spend a lot of time with him.”

“He’d tell me if he was uncomfortable with the way I was acting,” Sylvain replied. They frowned, so he continued. “He’s told me before when I’ve done something wrong, Professor. You don’t need to worry.”

They paused and, after a moment, nodded. He didn’t get them. After so many years, he thought maybe they’d be a little easier to understand, but nope. “I’m happy for you,” they said, and wrote his name down next to Felix’s on the paper they had in front of them, planning out battle formations.

The moons went on, and things really started to happen. They marched on the Empire and, when crossing over the Airmid to truly begin their assault, Dedue showed up. Felix was...ecstatic, actually.

“You seem happy,” Sylvain said that evening. Okay, maybe Felix wasn’t practically vibrating with happiness like Dimitri had been when Dedue showed up on the battlefield, but he could tell. Felix was smiling, for one, and had been doing so absentmindedly all evening.

“Do I?” Felix asked. His cheeks flushed a little. “We won the battle. There’s plenty of reason to be pleased, isn’t there?”

“Well, yeah,” he admitted, reaching across the small gap between them to take Felix’s hand in his. The feeling of warmth never got old for him, and seeing as Felix always accepted the gesture Sylvain would hazard a guess that he felt the same. “I don’t know. You always seemed a little on edge around Dedue when we were at the Academy. I didn’t expect you to be so pleased to see him back.”

“It’s not that-” Felix said, cutting himself off when Sylvain fixed him with his special ‘stop lying to yourself’ look. “Okay, yes, I’m pleased to see him back. Happy now?”

“Very,” Sylvain said with a grin.

Felix rolled his eyes. “It just feels like...our old group is complete again. It’s good.”

Things didn’t stay good for long. They marched on Gronder. The field burned. The battle was little more than senseless slaughter, and far too many people who should have lived died instead.

Sylvain was busy with Bernadetta when the battle ended. She was in a state, talking about how maybe if she’d been in the Empire’s army, she would have been on the field. Sylvain was gently trying to tell her that it was nonsense, her home territory was miles away, and who would even put a timid archer on the front lines?

Sylvain was busy when the battle ended, and the little girl that no one had really been paying too much attention to approached Dimitri with a knife. Dimitri was also busy when the battle ended; he was talking to Rodrigue about their next move, convincingly arguing the point for putting pressure on the Empire to take resources away from the Dukedom. In a war driven by attrition in the Kingdom, resources were key. Resources were what their army didn’t have right now.

Rodrigue was halfway through a delicate point about needing to free the people of Blaiddyd lands and beyond from tyranny before more lives were lost when he saw the little girl. Fleche, her name was. Not that Sylvain saw it. Not that Sylvain saw any of it.

Not that Sylvain was there when Felix watched his father die for another man before his very eyes.

Felix didn’t say a word. Their trek back to the camp was full of...they’d won the battle. The war was turning in their favour. But Rodrigue’s death, his body buried in an unmarked grave at Gronder Field, put a damper on all of it.

Sylvain tried to get through to him. He tried to know what the right thing to say was, but he hadn’t lost a father. He’d lost a brother, and he’d hated his brother even more than Felix had loved his father.

There was nothing he could do, but he could be there. So he held Felix tightly in the darkness of their shared tent. Felix didn’t cry, but his whole body shook against Sylvain’s shoulder. He stroked Felix’s hair over and over until he calmed. And then, moments later, Felix would start shaking again.

Sylvain couldn’t pretend to understand, but he’d be there for him. If it helped even a little, he’d do as much as he could. They didn’t sleep much that night, but that was okay. They had plenty of time before another battle.

Apparently, however, even a couple of days of downtime was too much for some people. Sylvain barely even knew the soldier who approached him, but he got a bad feeling from her the moment she opened her mouth. “I’m from Gautier territory, my lord,” she explained. Sylvain tried not to grimace.

“Did you have something to talk to me about?” he asked. He tried to keep his voice light, but he didn’t know if he’d quite succeeded. “I’m a little busy, so please make it quick.”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about the future, as a humble soldier from your territory,” she said, and if that didn’t send chills down Sylvain’s spine. He didn’t want to talk about this. “Your future as an heir of Gautier, especially now the war is turning in our favour.”

“Don’t count our wyverns before they’ve hatched,” he said. The light tone had disappeared. “But go on.”

“Well, given current circumstances, the young Fraldarius lord will be Duke soon enough,” she said, and Sylvain wanted to stop her there. Rodrigue had died barely days before and she was already piling this onto Felix’s shoulders?

But for some reason, he didn’t say anything, and the woman continued. “When he’s Duke, there will be certain...responsibilities that come with governing a territory and preparing it for the future. I’m sure you’re intimately familiar with these duties, and I imagine Lord Felix is aware of them too. In light of that, perhaps it may be better not to associate with him too strongly. Neither of you would want anyone getting the wrong idea.”

She was referring, of course, to the issue of inheritance. Because apparently that was the only thing people had time to think about, even during a war. It made Sylvain feel slightly sick. Felix didn’t want to produce an heir. He would rather die than even consider it, he’d told Sylvain one night.

“Miss, do you mind if I speak my mind with you?” he asked. He was at his limit. “Because I think that’s none of your business, and that you really should have some self respect when you’re talking about these things. Above everything you’ve just said, Felix is the right hand man of the future King of Faerghus. And even if he wasn’t, I value my bond with Felix far more than the words of a woman I’ve never even spoken to before.”

Sylvain had raised his voice and he knew that everyone around him was watching. Felix included, even if his head was turned away (his hands clenched, his mouth set in a thin line). “So tell me, concerned stranger who has _so_ many opinions about my partner: how much is my father paying you to say this?”

The woman said something empty in return. Sylvain didn’t bother to listen to what it was, instead repeatedly telling her that it would be better for her to leave until she finally shut up and took his advice. He hoped his father had paid a ridiculous sum of money, because he’d spent it poorly. 

Once they were back at the monastery, Felix vanished, and Sylvain honestly couldn’t blame him for that. He’d had no chance to be alone since before Gronder, and even Sylvain was feeling overwhelmed. He couldn’t imagine what Felix felt like right now, other than utter shit.

When Sylvain was sitting in his room, hoping that Felix would come back at some point just to make him worry a little less, he got a different visitor. Someone knocked, which told him it wasn’t Felix. When he called “come in!” it was Ingrid who entered.

“Hi, Sylvain,” she said. She looked worn out, which Sylvain could empathise with. This whole war had his bones aching with tiredness every day, especially now Rodrigue was gone. He couldn’t imagine how people who were actually closer to him were feeling. “Do you mind if I talk to you about something?”

“As long as you’re not going to tell me that I should stop ‘consorting with Felix’,” he said. He laughed, but it didn’t come out as easily as he wanted it to. Ingrid grimaced.

“Goddess, no,” she replied. “The opposite, in fact.” Sylvain remembered the other times that Ingrid had come into his room for difficult conversations. This time, she easily took a seat at his desk. “I wanted to talk to you about how proud I was.”

“Goddess, Ingrid, I’m glad I was sitting down for that,” he said, clutching his chest. Ingrid cracked a small smile.

“Yeah, okay, I deserved that one,” she admitted. “It was good to see you standing up for yourself, and for Felix. You’ve grown a lot, and it feels like...it feels like it all happened when I wasn’t looking, and I’m sorry for it.”

“I get it,” he agreed. “That’s how all change seems to happen, isn’t it?”

Ingrid’s returning smile was slightly sad, but when she opened her mouth there was genuine joy in her tone. “Perhaps,” she said, “but I think I’m glad to just see the results. I hope you’re happy with him.”

Sylvain smiled. “I am.”

* * *

A few more weeks passed, and they changed the course of their attack. After the victory at Gronder, the Imperial army was retreating, and Dimitri could clearly think of no better time to invade Fhirdiad. Maybe it wasn’t the best tactical decision, but Sylvain couldn’t deny that the thought of it put his mind at ease a little. Especially after what Rodrigue had argued.

The battle was...strange. There were creatures (machines?) on the battlefield that Sylvain had never seen or even read about before. There was something eerie about the way they moved, something powerful and dangerous and-

Felix downed one with a series of punches in the wake of the hail of arrows that had taken down its defences. And then, like the rest of them, he turned towards the commander. Cornelia, the woman who had sentenced Dimitri to death all those years ago and ruled the Kingdom in his place ever since.

“My, what charming guests you are. Let me take care of you.” Sylvain heard her words. The whole front line of the army heard her words. But Felix...Felix froze. And then, with the rest of the army’s eyes fixed on him, the sound of orders he was plainly ignoring rising around him, Felix stalked towards her.

There was something distinctly dangerous about the way Felix moved, but Cornelia didn’t seem particularly worried. Instead, she laughed. “Oh, Felix!” she called. “What a surprise to see you here. We always do meet at the strangest of times, don’t we?” Felix growled. Sylvain had a pretty good idea about what was going to happen next, but Cornelia seemingly didn’t. “I’m shocked to see you amongst so many others. I always thought you were never quite going to make it back home.”

It was then that Sylvain realised exactly what was happening here. Whatever Felix was reacting to, whatever Cornelia knew him from- it had something to do with all that time Felix was gone. All the terrible things that must have happened to him back then.

Sylvain wasn’t surprised when Felix jumped at her without another word. She fell to the ground, and Sylvain watched Felix’s sword go down once, twice, three times-

Felix froze again. He stood, his eyes wide and terrified, and then he ran. The battle continued around Cornelia’s broken body as if nothing had even happened.

Fortunately, many of the remaining Dukedom soldiers surrendered when they saw the course the battle was taking, and everything wrapped up pretty quickly. But even in only that short time that had elapsed since Cornelia fell, Felix managed to disappear.

Sylvain barely even stopped in the rooms of the castle set aside for healing before he went looking for Felix. Even now there was a fairly low risk of someone jumping out of the corridors and accosting him, Sylvain carried a weapon. Just in case.

The halls of the castle were fairly familiar to him, even if Sylvain hadn’t been there in years now. Nothing had really changed while Dimitri was gone, apart from a few conspicuously empty areas where symbols of the royal family had been removed. The only problem was that even if Sylvain had spent many days here as a child, Felix had inevitably spent more.

He’d been searching for an hour or so when the celebrations started. He saw the way people cheered, watched Dimitri with no small amount of pride, and then he kept searching. He couldn’t find Felix anywhere, and now there were people swarming through the hallways, navigating became far more difficult.

Another hour later, Dimitri stopped him in a courtyard that was somehow already full of cooked dishes. He supposed the kitchen staff didn’t really care who was eating dinner as long as it was someone. Ingrid stood at his left, Dedue at his right. “Sylvain, are you still looking for Felix?” Dimitri asked. He nodded.

“I’m sorry I can’t stop for all the celebrations,” he said. He felt bad, almost, interrupting this time of celebration for Dimitri for the sake of looking for Felix. Felix was important, but he didn’t want Dimitri to think he was less important because of that. “He looked pretty torn up when...that happened. I don’t think he should be alone tonight.”

“Is he ever?” Ingrid asked. And then she...winked. Okay, there wasn’t just food at this party; there must be wine around here somewhere.

“No,” Sylvain said. “That’s the point. Any suggestions?”

“You could try the Fraldarius quarters,” Dedue suggested, and Sylvain’s face lit up. He hadn’t tried that yet.

“Thanks, Dedue,” he said with a smile. “Enjoy the festivities, everyone. Especially you, your Majesty.” Sylvain dipped into a mock bow, flourishing his hands and all, and Dimitri flushed crimson. Sylvain ducked away from them before he could find out how Dimitri would reply.

Felix wasn’t in the Fraldarius quarters. He wasn’t in the Blaiddyd ones, either, or in any of the hallways, or the servants’ quarters. He wasn’t anywhere, it seemed - Sylvain even checked the stables.

Eventually, Sylvain gave up. He was exhausted, and he knew there’d be lots of things to sort out in the morning. Maybe even a counter attack to mount, if the Empire were on it. If not, they’d be preparing passage back to Garreg Mach. Basically, Sylvain needed to at least get some sleep that night.

He ended up back in the Gautier quarters. He’d spent many nights here as a child; his mother and father in one room, Miklan in another, and him in the other. At one point, they’d swapped so Sylvain was in the bigger, nicer room. Sylvain could still see a dent in the doorframe where Miklan had-

Sylvain went to the sitting area in the set of rooms. He would rather sleep on the sofa. He grabbed a couple of blankets, closed the curtains to keep out the chill, and settled down. Almost the moment he did, there was a knock on the door. “Come in!” he called, after a moment’s pause.

The door opened, and Felix came in. His shoulders were slightly hunched, and when Sylvain stood to move towards him, he shook his head. His eyes were clear, but there was a tiredness to his gaze that told Sylvain that Felix hadn’t been out celebrating with everyone else.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, watching as Felix went to perch on the side of the armchair before he opted for the floor instead.

“I’m going to tell you what happened after the Tragedy,” Felix said. “If you’ll listen.”

“You don’t have to.” Sylvain knew he’d asked before, but he’d long outgrown the morbid need to know exactly what had happened during those terrible years. They could manage just fine without him knowing.

“I want to,” Felix replied, his voice firm. And then he began to speak.


	7. Mistakes that Last Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay folks. Heavy heavy HEAVY content warnings for this chapter. There's a lot of suffering here. If any of these things are too much for you or get to be too much over the course of the chapter, please skip to the end notes (which begin with "If you didn't read the full chapter") where I'll summarise the contents of the chapter.
> 
> The warnings for this chapter are: referenced canonical character death, drugging, captivity, ableism (surrounding speech), ableism and internalised ableism (surrounding physical disability), human experimentation, some medical imagery and procedures (mostly surrounding blood), force feeding, self harm, loss of motor functions (walking), anxiety, dehumanisation, depersonalisation, gaslighting

His father’s words burned in his ears as he ran. He knew what it meant: it was okay for Glenn to die, he would rather Glenn had died like that than lived, he’d be happy if his last remaining child went the same way. His father hadn’t said any of those things, but Felix knew he meant it.

He ran until his lungs burned. He wasn’t thinking about much at all beyond the tears behind his eyes that wouldn’t come and the fact that he had to get to Fhirdiad. Dima almost died. His whole family was dead. And Felix was meant to just stay at home with his father and not comfort the only person who could understand how he was feeling about losing Glenn?

The only problem was...at some point while he was running, he’d decided that following the road was a bad idea because that was where his father would look for him. So while he was still going, still walking, it was so dark and he was completely lost. And a little bit hungry and thirsty.

It wasn’t great, so when he saw a lantern he didn’t think - he headed straight towards it. Someone out here could at least direct him to the road, he was sure, and from there he could make a better shot at getting to Fhirdiad. His father finding him was better than starving to death, even if not by much.

When he approached the light, he could see the figure of a woman. The hood of her cloak was up, but she sat in front of a spread of food. She looked up when he approached, as if she hadn’t seen him moving in the forest before that moment. “Oh, I wasn’t expecting to see anyone out here on a night like this,” she said. “Come on, sit down.”

Felix shuffled forwards uneasily. He knew that, really, he wasn’t meant to trust strange people he met in the middle of the night. But he was thirteen; he was basically an adult, and that meant that he could defend himself. “Is that okay?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said. She frowned at his face. “I recognise you from somewhere. Fhirdiad, perhaps?” Felix felt his face twist into a frown. He didn’t want her to realise who he was. Didn’t want to hear that name, hear those words. “Ah! Are you the Fraldarius child?” Child. Singular. He wondered how she knew.

“...yes,” Felix answered. It was the truth, after all. “I’m Felix Hugo Fraldarius.” It was strange to hear it aloud. Good, but strange. He’d never said the name out loud to anyone other than his reflection looking back at him in the mirror. Watching the words fall from his lips was very different to watching someone else hear them.

“Oh, are you now?” the woman replied, and he was sure he’d been found out. Any moment now, she was going to tell him that there was no Fraldarius son left. That Felix Hugo didn’t exist, and of course he had that other name.

He was sure that she would gently chide him for lying and then move on with the conversation, and Felix would find everything stuck uncomfortably in his throat. But she didn’t. “Well, it’s rather dangerous out at night,” she continued. “I’m sure you can protect yourself, young man, but I don’t particularly want to be alone.”

“I can fight,” Felix replied. There was a sword strapped to his belt that he had never used before, but he could fight. He knew he could. He was due his maiden battle soon anyway.

“Of course you can, a young man of Faerghus like you are,” she said. “I’m very sorry I don’t have any way to pay you for the favour you’re offering to do me, but I can offer you a good meal in exchange?”

Felix paused. He was hungry, and if this woman couldn’t offer him much else then… “Sure,” he said, taking one of the bread rolls from in front of him. He couldn’t see the woman’s face, but he could tell she was smiling when she spoke next.

“Do you have any water?” she asked. Felix bit of a chunk of the bread and shook his head. “Oh, poor thing, it looks like you’ve travelled quite a distance. I don’t have any water, but I have a mixture with something else that keeps it fresh a little better. Here, take this.”

She pulled a flask and a small mug from her bag and poured the liquid into it. A moment later, she handed it to him. “Thanks,” Felix said, downing it in one. He hadn’t quite realised how thirsty he was until the mug touched his lips. When he put it back down on the grass, the woman filled it again.

This time, when he drank, he realised it tasted slightly bitter, and it was sort of...warm. The taste wasn’t bad, though, so he finished the mug and continued to sip at a third while he ate the rest of the food in front of him. The woman didn’t say much, didn’t ask any more questions, and he preferred it that way.

“What is this?” he asked, when he reached the bottom of the third mug. He wasn’t sure if he was tired, but he was realising that maybe there was something alcoholic in it. He’d never really drunk before, and if it was alcohol then he didn’t know if having any more was a particularly good idea.

For a moment, she didn’t reply, and the world started to spin a little. “It’s just the combination of a little magic and medicine,” she said. That- that didn’t sound right. Panicking slightly, Felix put his hands down and tried to stand, but the woman held him down. He flinched and squirmed away, but everything was starting to go very fuzzy around the edges. “Really, Felix. You shouldn’t have trusted someone who recognised you at the edge of the road.”

Everything went dark. He’d made a mistake.

-

_ “And that was Cornelia?” _

_ “I didn’t know it at the time. I didn’t even know until earlier today. But that was Cornelia.” _

* * *

When he woke up, he was in a dark room. There were no windows, and the only light leaked in through the doorframe. In that very dim light, Felix could make out that he was...in a cage of some form. It was cramped, barely large enough to move around in and definitely not large enough to give him space to stand.

He’d been taken prisoner by that woman, clearly. Goddess, how could he have been so stupid? So trusting? Something frustrated and childish and very, very afraid coiled in his chest and he wanted to cry. But he didn’t, because he hadn’t felt able to since the news about Glenn had arrived and he’d cried until he felt empty and sore and hollow.

He didn’t cry, but he did call for help. He didn’t know where he was, but he doubted it could be the complete middle of nowhere. If he just kept shouting, surely someone would hear. So he called for someone, anyone, to help him. He shouted again, and again, until his throat went raw and all his limbs ached with tiredness. And no one came.

He didn’t know what time it was when the woman returned. He could tell it was her from the cloak, the way she moved, but still he could barely see what her face looked like. She made a noise that Felix would probably describe as mocking pity.

“Aw, poor little Felix,” she said. Her voice had the same honey sweet tone it had held before. She reached with one hand through the bars in the cage and ruffled his hair. Felix flinched away. “No need to be like that,” she said with a tut. “I brought you some medicine for that sore throat of yours. Don’t you want it?”

Felix shook his head, and the woman tutted again. “Now now, Felix,” she said, “use your words.”

It was the only clue Felix had as to who this woman was. She must have known him in some way, because the only people he’d ever heard say those words were people who knew him well. “I don’t want it,” he grated out. His voice caught in his throat painfully, and he winced.

“It seems like you do,” she said. He didn’t. He really, really didn’t. Because the last time he’d accepted something she offered, he’d woken up in this cage. And now he didn’t know where he was, who he was with, or what she was going to do with him.

That, and...his bladder was starting to send a stabbing pain into his lower body. But there was no sign of him being allowed to move. “I don’t,” he repeated.

She left him alone without saying another word, leaving the cup just within his reach through the bars of the cage. His throat ached, his stomach hurt, and his whole body felt like it was on fire. He needed water, needed food, and he couldn’t sleep through the pain.

Most of all, he needed to get away from here. So, despite the crackle in his throat, Felix cried for help again. This time, he called for his father. Surely he was out looking for him. Surely he’d find wherever he was, hear that he needed help. Surely someone would come.

The alternative was unthinkable and dwelling on it for too long made his chest ache, so he called for help and just hoped that someone would come and save him.

Everything hurt in the morning, if it even was the morning, but a sort of haze had settled in. He couldn’t think past what he needed and the only thing he wanted anymore was to get away. He needed to eat, needed to drink, and most of all he needed sleep.

Yet when the woman came again, her face still hidden, and she held out the cup of liquid to him again, he shook his head. “Use your words, Felix,” she said. “If you’re going to be rude and refuse what I’m offering, you could at least have the manners to refuse verbally.”

“No,” he said. “I don’t want it.” She pushed it to him a second time, a third time. That time, he snapped. He threw his hand out, trying to knock the cup from her hands. He wouldn’t take anything she offered.

She reacted in a flash, throwing the liquid all over him. “You’re going to have to learn,” she said. “There won’t be anything for you here other than what I offer you, Felix, so you’re going to have to get used to taking it soon. You don’t want to die, do you?”

The words stuck in his throat as he thought of the possibility of dying here. His father wouldn’t say he’d died a knight’s death. He would have died a fool’s death, alone and thirsty and hungry, not found by anyone. “I won’t drink it,” he said through chapped lips. It hurt, but he had to say it.

That night, he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Everything hurt, but most of all he was absolutely exhausted. He woke countless times, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, in absolute agony. His waking hours mixed with dreams and nothing felt quite real; he couldn’t tell which was which, not until the woman came again and brought another cup of liquid.

He shook his head when it was offered, and this time the woman didn’t even chide him. She raised a hand, and his body...locked up. He couldn’t move. “I have to get you to behave somehow,” she said. “We can’t have you drying out and being useless to everyone, can we?”

She leaned closer, opening his mouth with one hand and pouring the liquid down his throat. She went too fast, faster than he could swallow, and he choked. The liquid poured down his front, and when he coughed it spewed everywhere. Everything felt raw and wrong, but some of the ache in his body lessened.

She let him go, and he slumped against the bars of the cage. “Aren’t you going to thank me?” she asked. “I just saved your life. If you’d kept on like that, you would have died.” Felix shook his head, and she tutted. “Use your words, Felix, come on.”

“No,” he said. He’d barely said anything in the time he’d been here and he had no plans to change that. He didn’t have anything to say to her. The woman sighed and left, leaving him once more in darkness.

Whatever she’d given him didn’t, unfortunately, grant him sleep again. But everything felt...wrong. Not real. He closed his eyes and they felt heavy, but sleep didn’t come. His throat ached from where he’d coughed, and everything he wore was a little damp. He was uncomfortable. He was alone.

“Glenn?” he called. “Glenn, please, I know you’re dead, but- please. Please save me.” It didn’t make any sense. But none of this did, so what was even the point?

The next time the woman came with a cup of liquid, he just took it without a fuss. Just like the first time, she leaned over and ruffled his hair. It felt like a spider was crawling over his head, and he shuddered. “I’m glad to see you’ve decided to be good,” she said.

He huffed and didn’t say anything in reply, and she left soon afterwards. He was sure there was no point to it by now, but he didn’t give up on calling out to anyone who might hear him. Anyone who could maybe come and save him. But no one came.

Days passed. Nights passed. Felix didn’t know the difference between the two, and he slept uneasily. He didn’t eat, but he quickly worked out that whatever was in the liquid the woman was giving him meant he somehow didn’t need food. He was never hungry after he drank it.

Time lost its meaning. The words he called over and over lost their meaning. The things the woman said to him were almost always the same; about how she was glad he was behaving, pleased he was on the way to being ready. He didn’t know what he was meant to be ready for, but he didn’t think he was going to like it.

He knew, somewhere within him, that he should be refusing what she told him to do. He should be questioning her, finding out what was going on, trying to escape. But after what happened the last time he refused her directions, he knew better than to challenge her. She knew far more than him. She had everything, and she could do things that he wouldn’t know how to do in a million years. He couldn’t win.

But when she came to him with different words, something made him refuse. “I want to make you my new project,” she explained. “I’m a researcher, you see, and I primarily work on things that no one really understands. The mysteries of the human body. Preventing disease, accentuating power.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked. Something about this didn’t sit right with him. Glenn had always told him about a research team in Fhirdiad that he’d never quite understood or trusted, and since then he’d been wary about researchers.

“I want to work on your Crest,” she said. “You have one, don’t you?” He nodded. “Tell me more, Felix. Use those words.”

“I have a Crest,” he elaborated, irritation prickling at his throat. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Oh, you don’t need to know that,” she said. “It messes with the experiment, after all.”

Felix frowned. “No, then,” he said. In response, she leaned in to unlock the cage, but stood in front of the exit so he couldn’t get out.

“You’ll get to leave that little cage if you can agree to this,” she said. It was tempting, given the persistent ache in his body, but not in exchange for what she was threatening. “If not, well, I’ll just have to think of other ways to persuade you.”

“No,” he said again. He was not going to let her experiment on him for the sake of the ability to stretch his legs. If he just waited this out, someone would find him. They must have realised by now that he was missing, that something had happened.

“Fine,” she said, leaning in once more to close the cage door again. “Take this. I’ll be back to ask you again tomorrow, so you can think it over.” With that, she withdrew a vial from her cloak, tipped it into the cup as always, and put it on the floor next to the cage.

Felix was tempted not to drink it out of protest, but he did it anyway. There was no point resisting on a second count, especially now he knew exactly what she wanted from him. If he could hold out against her, that gave him some kind of power. Maybe there was something he could exchange for his agreement to this, if it came to that.

The next day, the woman came again. She asked him once more if he’d agree to her experimenting on his Crest, and again he told her no. Somehow, he felt this was just going to become the new routine between them.

He drank what she gave him, and this time it tasted slightly different. “Have a good day,” the woman said with a small smile. Felix felt the potion turn to ice in his throat. “And remember to think my offer over.”

It started slowly at first, and then it came all at once. It was like he’d been submerged in the fire pits of Ailell; every part of his body burned, his head felt full of everything and nothing at the same time, and he could barely move but desperately needed to. A haze covered his every thought, and there was nothing but pain and too much darkness, too much sensation inside and out and-

He had no idea how much time had passed before he felt like he could breathe without fire entering his lungs. Everything ached, but in a different way now. In the dim light, Felix could make out blood under his fingernails, hair caught in his hands.

The woman came again. Felix didn’t say a word as she stood there and prepared the potion. “Have you given any more thought to my offer?” she asked. “Your Crest; I want to unlock its secrets, but it’ll be much easier if you’ll let me. And trust me, I have many, many more ways I could persuade you.”

Felix avoided looking at her directly, instead warily eyeing the potion in her hands. “It’s safe, so long as you agree to participate in my work,” she confirmed. That was what he’d thought. “It will give you some respite, should you only give the word.”

“Yes,” he grumbled, mostly under his breath. Every nerve in his body felt raw, like he was being torn apart under her gaze. She waited. “Yes, you can work on my Crest.” He knew, of course, that he’d made a mistake when the words fell from his lips. He’d known even before then. But he said them anyway, took the potion she handed him, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

The next time he woke, the woman was in front of him already. She unlocked the cage door and stepped back. “Come on,” she said. “There’s a lot to do, and we don’t have all day.” Felix was still half asleep, honestly, but he clambered out of the cage. It felt good to stretch his legs out again. He had no idea how long he’d been cramped up in there.

As he went to move forward, the woman caught his wrist. “Not so fast,” she said. He flinched away from her grip as her fingernails dug into his skin. “What’s wrong, Felix? Use your words.”

“I can walk on my own,” he said firmly.

“Oh, I know,” she replied. “But this is to make sure you don’t run off, you see. There’s lots that could happen if you decided you had somewhere else to be.” With that, she produced a cuff from her cloak and chained it round his wrist. It was tight and uncomfortable, but there was nothing he could do about it. She held the chain in one hand and walked him out of the room.

Beyond the large, dark room there was a far brighter corridor. The walls were pale, but made of something Felix didn’t recognise. It looked like stone, but it was...wrong. There were no bricks. The woman led him down the corridor, past a door to Felix’s right, and then through one on the left.

Inside, the room was made...almost completely of metal. There was a bed-like setup in the middle, raised off the ground, and countertops all around. Everything was filled with paper, glass bottles, and pens. There was something about it that all felt distinctly out of place and wrong, and there were still no windows. Was he underground?

“You can sit down there,” the woman said, nodding towards the bed-like thing. “I just have a couple of little tests to run.”

Felix nodded and took a seat. It was uncomfortable; cold and hard. She watched him for a few moments before approaching with a small rod in her hand. “I need you to turn your dominant arm over, so I can see your veins,” she said.

“Why?” Felix asked. She frowned.

“Just do it,” she said. “I don’t need to explain something so simple; you’ll see soon enough.” Her gaze wasn’t one to be argued with, so he did as she asked. Moments later, she brought the rod down to the point Felix had always used to check his pulse. He felt something rush to the fore inside him, and tried to hold it back by impulse.

She frowned. “Stop holding it back,” she said, and brought the rod down again. This time, instead of just tapping it against the point, she held it there. There was a jolt, and a shudder ran through his body as light flashed, if only for a moment. His Crest. The woman brought the rod down again, and again. Each time, she noted something down on a piece of paper in symbols Felix didn’t understand.

Each tap only lasted a moment, but as it went on, the feeling started to ache. Felix’s chest felt heavy, and his breathing came a little harder. He didn’t understand why, but he felt like...he felt like he was exercising, yet he’d barely moved in what must have been weeks.

A few more times, and it started to hurt. Once more, and it felt like he was being stabbed through the chest. He cried out, and she wrote something down. “Do you have something to say, Felix?” she asked. “Go on.”

He didn’t say anything, and she brought the rod down to his pulse again. His body jerked. “Stop,” he forced out. “It hurts.”

She noted something down. “I wondered when you’d reach your limit,” she said. “You have unusually high pain tolerance for someone with such a small body. But you’re not done just yet.” She brought the rod down again. And again. And again.

Everything hurt, and it now felt like his lungs were on fire. His ears were ringing, and his vision was starting to go a little dark around the edges. But she kept going once, twice, three more times, until he was gasping for breath. “We’re done,” she said. “Take this.”

She handed him another potion, and Felix gulped it down without thinking. Within seconds, the rest of his vision faded to black.

The next day, the woman led him to the other door they’d passed - the one on the right. This opened into a much lighter room, lit in a way that looked more natural. But when Felix looked up, there were still no windows.

This time, she stood him in front of something he recognised; a training dummy. “Activate your Crest,” she said.

“I do it with a sword,” he explained. He didn’t control it at all, honestly. It showed up at the strangest of times, and never when he wanted it to. He didn’t know if he could even attempt to control it without a sword in his hand.

“Try,” she said; almost encouraging him, he supposed. He stood in front of the dummy. Stared at it. He couldn’t just make his Crest come out of nowhere, not in the way that she’d done it the day before.

He stood and stared a bit more, trying to remember the feeling of his Crest being forcefully torn from his body. If he could just feel that energy again - without the pain - maybe he could make it appear without trying.

It took a while, but eventually it showed up. The force of it slammed into the training dummy, but didn’t leave a scratch. It was never going to, but the woman still looked at him with something akin to disappointment on her face.

“Try it with a sword,” she said, handing him a wooden one she must have produced from the side of the room when he wasn’t looking. This, finally, was a little more natural. He sank into his usual training stance and started slashing at the dummy.

Every few slashes, his Crest flashed. He went through his usual drills, happy to finally be able to move. This, at least, was a thoroughly familiar setting. He could work with this. He knew this. He was good at training.

“You can stop,” the woman said after a while. He wasn’t keen to, but his muscles were starting to tire. “Your control isn’t very good,” she commented. “Your Crest is strong, but does that have any use at all if you can’t manage that strength?”

Felix frowned. He had the strongest Crest out of all of his friends, and he was the only one of them who could make it appear regularly. He didn’t like that she was implying he’d somehow failed on this front. Out of all things, he could do this. “I’m good with a sword,” he complained. It was the only thing he could think of.

“For a child, yes,” she replied, writing something else down. He wished he could see what she was writing. “I’m going to begin the project soon.” Just as she had the day before, she handed him that potion, and just as before he took it.

“When?” he asked. He’d known it was coming, of course, because he’d agreed. But if he could know anything, anything at all…

“Now,” she said. Felix’s vision faded and his back hit the sand of the training grounds.

-

_ “Felix, I-” _

_ “Shh. If you’re going to stop me for this, you won’t want to hear the rest. Let me say it all.” _

* * *

The next time he woke up, shocked out of sleep from frighteningly vivid dreams, it was a couple of minutes before the woman came into the room. He ached a little, but otherwise he felt fine. Slightly more well rested than he had the last time he woke up, at least.

“What did you do to me?” he asked the moment she entered the room. The woman didn’t answer, just opening up the cage and attaching the chain to his wrist again. He followed her to the room where she’d prodded his Crest; it wasn’t like he had any other choice.

This time, she directed him to lie down on the bed. Once he did so, she put her hands above him. Felix watched with no small amount of horror as, next to the bed, a vial filled with blood. The slight sting in his chest told him that she was using magic to withdraw it from him. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

Instead of answering immediately, the woman handed him a potion she extracted from her cloak. “I’ll tell you if it works,” she answered.

“Why not now?” Felix asked. He didn’t understand why it was so difficult to just tell him what she was doing. That was his blood she was taking. His life she was potentially putting at risk with all of this. He just hoped his father would come and find him soon.

However, the woman just fixed him with a sharp look. Felix relented and took the potion, letting the world fade to black once again.

This happened again, and again, and again. Each time was exactly the same, but he didn’t understand the point. The woman wouldn’t tell him what she was doing, and he didn’t stand a chance at guessing either. There was no sign that what she was doing was actually...doing anything.

“Your experiment isn’t working,” he told her, after...he’d lost count, somewhere along the line, as to how long she’d been doing this. He was conscious for so little time now, waking only for her to take his blood and knock him out again, and he had no idea how much time had elapsed. How many vials of blood she’d filled.

“Are you sure?” the woman asked, and yes, he had been sure. He’d been certain that nothing was happening, but now…

Now, every little twinge felt like something was happening. Each day he woke up aching, and each day he wondered if this was the time something had happened. Maybe there was even something going on that she could see but he hadn’t picked up on. He didn’t know, and each day terrified him just a little more.

Nothing changed, until finally he woke up one day and he heard...buzzing. Normally, the world was completely silent but for the sounds of him and the woman in this unending repetition of hell. But this time, he could hear something.

“There’s buzzing in my head,” he said once he reached the blood taking room, and the woman looked at him. Smiled.

“Describe it,” she said. “Tell me what it feels like.”

“It’s- a buzzing,” he repeated. There was no other way he could think of, but her gaze was filled with the condescending ‘use your words’, so he tried again. “It’s low, and at the back of my head. And it sort of...pulses. Sometimes it’s louder, sometimes it’s quieter.”

“Fine,” she said, and then took his blood. Handed him the potion. He took it, as always, because it wasn’t like there was anything else to be done.

He missed Glenn.

The process continued to repeat, over and over as always, for the next few days. But with each day, the buzzing got louder. And one day he woke up and everything felt as if it was...shaking, just slightly.

“There’s something wrong with my muscles,” Felix informed her. “They’re shaking.” He looked down at his hands, which felt like they were shaking. When he looked at them, they seemed still. 

The woman looked down too, and shook her head. “Your muscles are exactly the same,” she said. “There’s nothing different to before. They’re just as active or as still as normal; whatever it is you’re feeling, you’re imagining it.”

He was sure he wasn’t, but the woman maintained her view each day. The feeling didn’t subside, and if anything, it got clearer. Clearer and clearer again, until one day, he realised. The shaking. The buzzing. It moved, it ebbed and flowed, it pulsed, it…

“I can feel my blood,” he explained, when the woman asked him if he still felt like he was shaking. She looked at it with something close to glee on her face, and he felt something catch in his throat. Maybe it was fear.

With that, the woman produced that rod again, and brought it to his pulse point. The moment she did so, a flash of light filled the room, alongside a bolt of something that looked like thunder magic. The woman blinked. “Interesting,” she said.

“What is it?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“That would be telling,” she chided, and he frowned. He just wanted to know. It was his Crest. His power. Why could he feel it? Why was there lightning? He’d never had the patience for magic. “You can work it out yourself, I’m sure. You don’t have anything else to do.”

Felix scowled, but she ignored him, getting on with her routine just as she normally did. He supposed he could work it out by himself, but only if he was given the time to be conscious. But he wouldn’t be; he only had a few moments before he was asleep again.

The woman did the same the following day, and then the day after that and the day after that. The humming in the back of Felix’s mind, the power coursing through his veins, increased day by day. He could feel it. And with that power growing, it became harder and harder to control.

Even in the few minutes that he was properly conscious in a day, it became hard to keep the power under control. He could feel it, ever-present, and it was a battle to keep it in. The power coiled close to his chest. Some days, it hurt. Some days, his throat burned just from the effort of keeping it in.

One day, it slipped from his grip. It only took a moment where he lost concentration, but suddenly it all rushed out. There was a flash of light, a sharp crackle of something close to thunder, and the woman cried out, dropping the chain she held him with and stepping backwards. “Felix,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.

Felix looked over at her. The words caught in his throat; he knew that he’d done something she didn’t like. Of course she didn’t like it. But he couldn’t take it back.

“What are you going to say?” the woman asked. He continued to stare down at his hands, which still held a light glow. He could feel his blood still crackling, and he carefully tried to bring back as much control as he could. “Come on, Felix. Words.”

“I can’t control it,” he said.

“Learn,” she replied, her voice firm. She was cradling her right hand close to her chest. He’d hurt her, somehow.

“I can’t,” he answered honestly. “Whatever you’re doing to me, the power gets more every day. I can’t learn to control it if you don’t give me time to adjust.”

“No,” she said. “If you’re too much of a child to keep up with the process then you’ll have to learn the hard way. We’ll pick up again tomorrow. I need to check you haven’t done any lasting damage.”

Gingerly, she picked up the chain again, leading him back to the cage. They’d barely even left the room. She reached into her cloak and passed him the potion, just as always.

This time, however, he didn’t pass out instantly. Instead, the woman left him alone, and he felt his skin heat. He felt his head fill with everything imaginable and nothing at all. It was the concoction from before the testing began; a punishment.

But this time, he wasn’t just a child who hadn’t been eating, drinking, or sleeping enough. He wasn’t weak or exhausted. He’d spent plenty of time unconscious, and most of all...most of all, he had the power of his Crest. And he couldn’t control it an inch.

He tried to close his eyes against the light that flashed again, and again, and again. But he couldn’t close his senses to the feeling of lightning crackling through his skin, against the metal bars of the cage, and back towards him. It hurt like nothing else, and he couldn’t stop it. He didn’t stand a chance of controlling even a fraction of it.

He didn’t get any sleep that night. When the woman entered the room again, he’d barely regained control over his own body, his own mind. The stabbing pain had faded, but the ache remained. “Have you learned, Felix?”

Felix was shaking too much to speak. He could barely even open his mouth or keep himself upright, let alone answer her coherently. “I’d tell you to use your words, but I don’t think you can. Maybe next time.”

The next day he could speak again, but the power resting in his blood had returned alongside his energy. Still, even the thought of letting that power loose again made his breath quicken and he learned how to keep a firm hold on it. As long as nothing surprised him too badly - and things didn’t tend to, considering just how formulaic his ‘days’ were - he was fine.

Though fine was...well, it was relative in this kind of situation. He was fine, apart from the stabbing feeling in his chest every time his heart beat. He was fine, with the exception of the constant and near overwhelming feeling of the power of his Crest. There was nothing wrong, except that he was being held captive by a woman who had the power to do whatever she wanted with him, with no end in sight.

A woman who was getting increasingly frustrated that nothing had changed since the power increase in his Crest. Each day, she asked him “any new feelings?”

And each day, he replied “no.” Because there was nothing. But each time, a prickle of worry formed in his chest. Her frown deepened. He knew she wanted more, though he didn’t know what “more” would look like. If more never came...who knew what she would do?

-

_ “Are you sure you want to keep talking? You’re shaking.” _

_ “I’m fine. I’ll keep going.” _

* * *

He didn’t realise that things had been changing until one day when the woman took him out of the cage. It was normal for his limbs to ache, or for his balance to be a little off, or for his head to spin when he got up too fast. It was normal for him to feel that way after however long it was that he’d slept in the cage. Every night was full of dreams and fears he couldn’t shake, and the feeling always ebbed away slowly. It was normal.

What wasn’t normal was how the slight shake, the slight dizziness, persisted when he was chained by the wrist and led down the same hallway as always. He managed a short distance, keeping his eyes steadily on his feet and willing the feeling to disappear, before he stumbled. Caught himself.

The woman stopped and fixed him with that look. That curious, terrifying look that made Felix feel like nothing more than an object. “Is something wrong?” she asked. He shook his head. She fixed him with another stare. “Use your words, Felix.”

“Nothing is wrong,” he said. “I’m fine.” She nodded, and they continued walking. Felix noticed that the pace was a little brisker now, and it took only a few more steps before he stumbled again. This time, he couldn’t catch himself, and he hit the floor with palms outstretched. The woman stopped again.

“Perhaps you need more exercise,” she said, looking at him with that same stare. “I had been under the impression from my examinations that the process was maintaining your muscle mass, but perhaps not.”

Felix didn’t say anything, willing his legs to stop trembling as he tried to push himself up off the ground. The dizziness had subsided the moment he fell, but as soon as he had pulled himself onto his feet again, it returned. He felt himself sway slightly, and he knew the woman saw it. “Are you dizzy?” she asked.

He nodded. She looked at him. “Yes,” he grit out. “Yes, I’m dizzy.” He hadn’t felt so weak since the last time she’d used that awful substance on him. He staggered over to the wall for support, and realised in that moment that she’d dropped the chain. It wasn’t like he could run away.

“Take your time,” she said simply, striding down the hallway and into the same room as always. Felix let out a shaky sigh, gripped onto the wall, and unsteadily made his way forwards. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else to go.

When he made it to the room, the woman took his blood as she always did. And then, instead of moving straight to the part where she knocked him out and did Goddess knows what, she started prodding him.

His calves, his knees. She took notes, timed reaction speeds. She got him to stand again and she took more notes, his legs shaking all the while. This time, she wouldn’t let him steady himself against the wall, but made him stand until she told him he could sit again. “Before I begin for today, do you have anything to say?”

Felix nodded, but the words took a moment to come. “What is it?” he asked. He didn’t have any control over what was happening, of course, because he didn’t have control over anything. But knowing helped. Sometimes.

“I don’t know,” she said, and she sounded frustrated. Felix didn’t think that boded particularly well for him. “I had been starting to wonder if the changes had settled after the enhancement of your Crest power, but clearly not. This is the next phase.”

Felix tried not to react, because he knew his fear gave her some kind of twisted satisfaction. He waited in silence for her to say something else, but she didn’t. She handed him the potion and he swallowed without protest, letting himself drift away.

The next time Felix woke up was worse. He knew from the moment he stood up that he wasn’t going to get particularly far, because his legs were shaking like the leaves he hadn’t seen for months, and the woman recognised this immediately.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. She wasn’t looking at his face but instead at his legs, shaking under his weight. Felix felt that if he opened his mouth he would probably be sick, but the woman waited. When he still said nothing, she sighed. “Use your words, Felix,” she chided.

“I don’t think I can walk very far,” he said. His head was spinning like he was at the top of a very tall tree, but all he was doing was standing. Had this been coming for a while? Had he just not noticed while he was so caught up in his own head?

“Why don’t we see how far you can get?” she asked, and Felix grit his teeth before nodding. He took a single step forward. Stumbled, caught himself. He shuffled his other foot along the ground to try and avoid that moment of panic that set in each time he moved a foot from the ground. “Walk properly,” the woman said, “or I can’t see what’s wrong.”

_ What’s wrong _ _._ He could tell her what was wrong: her experiments. Whatever she’d done to him that made his head buzz and his blood crackle had moved on to something else. And now it was changing something he actually needed.

Nonetheless, Felix kept his mouth shut. He attempted one more step, stumbled, and caught himself. And with the fourth, his legs gave out and he tumbled to the floor. The woman was barely more than a pace away, but she watched him go. He wasn’t surprised.

The dizziness subsided, but it was replaced by a now very familiar feeling: shame. So far, he’d been pathetic. He’d been degraded and lost any semblance of control over his body. But this felt different. This felt like being a failure.

“Try again,” the woman said. Felix wanted to spit an obscenity at her, but he didn’t. He pulled himself to his feet and half stumbled, half fell towards the wall. His breathing heavy, his legs aching, he steadied himself against it. And, very slowly, he walked the length of the room, one shoulder hugging the wall.

“And away from the wall?” Felix shook his head. It was an effort to do more than stay upright, even with the support. His head was spinning. The buzzing sound was louder than normal. “Fine. I’ll bring you an aid next time. This time, the wall will have to do.”

Felix nodded, shakily making his way towards the door. The woman followed, not even bothering to chain his wrist this time. She knew he couldn’t get far.

The walk to the other room was exhausting. Felix almost felt as if he would fall asleep before she gave him the foul tasting medicine, but he felt a little better once he sat down. The sharp twinge of pain did the same as he watched, dispassionately, as another glass bottle filled with his blood. He wondered, not for the first time, what this woman was actually doing to him.

But, as always, he didn’t have much time to wonder, because it didn’t take long for her to be ready to begin. His mind once again buried itself under the sand.

The next time he woke was, again, worse. It always got worse.

The woman knew that he was unsteady, and this time she brought a stick. It looked uncomfortably similar to the one Felix remembered his grandmother using in the months before she died. Was his body weakening? Was he dying? He didn’t know. He wouldn’t be surprised. He didn’t expect the woman cared.

Even with the stick to support himself, he could barely walk. He stumbled, though he could actually stay on his feet this time. His legs shook with every step. His arms ached from the force of keeping himself upright.

When he was finally at the examination room, the woman prodded his muscles again. Over and over, she put her hands around his knees, tested the reactions, examined his ankles. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” she admitted. There was a deep frown on her face.

Felix didn’t want to know what would happen if this continued to get worse. He didn’t want to think about what this woman would do with a failed test subject who could barely walk. If she let him go, he would surely die before he made it home. And if he did…

His brother died like a true knight. A boy who couldn’t walk wouldn’t even be able to.

The woman handed him the potion once more, and he took it. He almost wished that he just wouldn’t wake up again.

The next time, Felix knew something had changed from the moment he woke; he couldn’t tell which direction was up or which was down. He shifted, still sat on the ground, and it felt like the whole world had just rotated twice around him. He leaned over and threw up, unsure of which direction he’d even turned in. The dizziness didn’t abate, so he just closed his eyes and tried to will it away. It didn’t go away.

The woman arrived while he tried to stay as still as possible. He didn’t look up at her when she came in, knowing that she would be able to tell immediately what had happened. He hated seeing her eyes on him, and if he moved to look at her he was sure the dizziness would worsen again.

“Oh, Felix,” she said, not a hint of pity in her tone. Something about this delighted her. “Let’s see if you can stand today.” Felix knew he wouldn’t be able to. He also knew that the woman knew this. That’s why she’d said it.

“I can’t,” he said, carefully keeping his body as still as possible while she unlocked the cage. She waited. He didn’t move. Even with her there as a reference point, he could barely tell his own body from his surroundings or stillness from movement.

“If you aren’t going to move, I’ll have to move you myself,” the woman warned. Felix flinched, and the whole world shook violently three times over before settling back to shaking gently. He made an effort to climb out of the cage. The moment he was on two feet, he pitched to the right. There was no time to right himself or even stick his hands out before he ended up on the floor.

“I doubt a stick will help much with that,” the woman noted. Felix’s head was buzzing. He was pretty sure he’d hit it on the floor; it hurt, but everything did. “If you won’t let me move you now, I’ll get the potion and move you then.”

Somehow, the thought of this was worse, though Felix couldn’t put his finger on why. He shook his head. Waited. He knew it was coming. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Use your words, Felix.”

“Help me walk,” he replied. The woman looked at him. “I can’t stand on my own. You did this to me and you want me in that room, so help me walk there.” He wasn’t sure he could keep his legs under his body, he couldn’t tell up from down, and he wanted to scream when her hands touched his arms. But he clenched his mouth tightly shut and kept it inside.

It turned out he could barely keep himself upright, even with the woman practically carrying him. His feet felt wrong, kept sliding out from under him, and his legs couldn’t hold his weight. He stumbled forwards in half steps, exhausted before he could even get out of the room. The woman didn’t even bother chaining him, clearly knowing that if she let go he’d be unable to even stay upright.

“This is a serious problem,” the woman said once they reached the room, as if that wasn’t already patently obvious to him. This was more of his problem than it was hers, even. “I had some theories about what this process would do, but this wasn’t on my list of potential changes your body could trigger; I didn’t prepare for it. If you don’t recover…”

“You could stop the process,” he suggested. “Let my body adjust. Maybe it will go away if things stop changing so quickly.” Surely there was some way to at least make sure this didn’t accelerate so quickly.

“No,” she said firmly. “I’ll keep going until I figure this out. There’s no alternative.” There was an unspoken alternative, of course, and it didn’t put Felix’s mind at ease at all when she didn’t put it to words. He knew she must be considering it; she was a cruel person. He took the potion and wondered when it would be mentioned.

This time, when he woke from yet another nightmare, Felix was no longer trapped in that little cage. It made sense, he supposed; there would be no rushing to the doorway. He wouldn’t be able to stand to get far enough. If he tried to run, he’d just get hurt more.

But with the space to move came the space to do...something. To try and work this out when the woman wasn’t there watching him the whole time. So he tried to think about what could even possibly make this better. He was willing to try anything if it would just make the suffering end.

When Felix was younger, the thing he’d always done to right himself when something felt slightly off was to clutch his knees and rock back and forth. It was something his father, his tutors, his brother, and even his friends had always tried to get him to stop doing. It looked strange and childish, and gave people the impression there was something wrong.

Felix had always argued that there was something wrong, that was why he was doing it. By doing it, he could get back towards feeling okay. And now there was no one around. He could do what he liked.

It took a handful of stops and starts, a couple of moments of lost balance and at least one instance of him smacking his head on the floor accidentally, but it sort of worked. It restored some kind of...balance in him, he supposed. And with that small sense of balance, that reorientation, he could think a little more clearly.

So he couldn’t walk upright. The last time he’d tried, he hadn’t even been able to stand. But the muscles in his legs were no weaker; the woman had said as much.

Until the last time he’d been awake, he’d felt better with the extra support. Something to put his weight against. And the moments the dizziness had faded the most when… Felix stopped rocking. He shifted his position from sitting to crouching, and then put his hands flat on the floor.

Something he couldn’t quite fathom clicked into place, and something small in his head righted itself. His muscles were still strong. He didn’t have any kind of physical sickness. But the woman had said that the process was continuing, something accelerating faster than was perhaps safe. What had happened was his to work out.

Carefully, he moved one foot forwards, and then one hand. He wobbled, but stayed in one place. His head was no longer spinning, and when he took another step, it was a little easier. His legs still shook, and after only a few minutes his wrists were screaming for some kind of reprieve, but it didn’t matter. He could move, even if it wasn’t quite right.

The door clicked, and Felix jumped. Quickly, he scrambled to move into a seated position, but the damage was done. “What are you doing, Felix?” the woman asked. He didn’t reply, his face on fire. He didn’t know why this was so embarrassing. “Use your words. I need to know.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I still can’t move properly.” He sort of could, but he didn’t want her to know. It didn’t sit right with him.

“Fine,” she said, giving up surprisingly quickly for her. Maybe she was losing interest in him now it seemed her experiment was producing the wrong results. “Let’s go.”

He let her help him to the examination room. He let her do everything as she always did. But when he awoke again the next day, he had that precious handful of minutes to practise being able to move. Each day, it got easier. Each day, the panic he felt clutching his lungs every time she came into the room eased just a little.

One day, she complained again that he wasn’t making the progress she wanted. “You seem a little more lucid,” she observed, “but it’s still not right. You need to be able to walk, or you’re useless.” Felix couldn’t help but agree, even if the statement sat a little wrong with him. Being unable to walk only made him useless because walking from the cell to the examination room was the only thing he did.

“I might find this easier if the changes were slower,” he said, knowing what her answer would be. But he said it anyway, because sometimes he just felt like he would go nuts if he couldn’t at least try and make some change for himself. He couldn’t give up.

“I’ve told you,” she said firmly. “This isn’t going to change any time soon. Either your body will figure it out, or it won’t.”

He felt like there was something wrong with her logic, but the confidence faded with the harshness in her tone. He didn’t think he could cope if she punished him for stepping out of line again.

The next time he woke, however, the woman seemed to have caught on. “I want to try you walking on your own again,” she said.

“I can’t walk like this,” he replied. Because he couldn’t; he’d tried, but he hadn’t even been able to stand for more than a moment. It put too much strain on his legs.

“I don’t believe you,” she countered. “I think you can walk just fine if you get a little creative with it. Try walking on all fours.”

Felix’s face burned with shame. She’d figured him out. He didn’t know why this in particular bothered him so much. But there was something about someone else seeing this that just didn’t sit right with him. But he did it anyway, because she was looking at him, and if he didn’t do it then he was sure she’d force him to the ground somehow.

He hated that this was more comfortable. He hated that she could now stand and hold the chain that was wrapped tightly around his wrist while he walked to the examination room. And he hated that, when he reached it, the woman was smiling. “Well, there it is,” she said. “That’s the solution. You were just fine walking like that, weren’t you?”

He nodded. The woman fixed him with a look. “Yes,” he admitted. “It was better.” He didn’t want to say that it worked perfectly fine, that he felt just like he used to when he walked upright. The thought filled him with something that went much, much deeper than embarrassment.

But with that brief moment of celebration over, the woman got right back to it. “Well, now that’s sorted, maybe we’ll see something a little more useful,” she said. “Though I don’t imagine what you can do if you can’t walk.” She handed him the potion just after filling a vial with his blood, just like always. Felix scowled, but he took it.

It was only a handful more days - probably, Felix had given up on counting long ago - before something else started to change. His jaw began to feel heavy and tight, a constant ache that hadn’t been present before. It felt bad, but it wasn’t big. It wasn’t something he wanted to admit to, in case the woman decided to use it to call him useless again.

What he couldn’t stop, however, was the blood that flowed from his lip if he bit it. It was a normal, routine session of wakefulness; he woke up, paced around in his cell a little, and ate the food that the woman had started leaving for him once she’d moved him out of the cage. But once the food was done, his teeth grazed his lip without him even thinking about it.

It was a nervous tic he’d picked up when he was much smaller, something Glenn always gently chided him for. “They already get chapped in winter, don’t make them worse,” he always said gently, poking Felix’s nose. Every time. Felix had stopped doing it at some point - he didn’t know when - but he must have started doing it again. Because he wasn’t imagining the taste of blood in his mouth.

The woman frowned when she saw him. “You’ve cut your lip,” she said. “How in Fódlan did you do that?” Felix didn’t say anything, so she led him to the examination room as usual. This time, however, she didn’t take his blood immediately. Instead, she directed him to open his mouth.

“Why?” he asked.

“I just want to check something,” she replied, so Felix did as she asked. If she wanted to get something into his mouth, she’d do it regardless. He may as well do it without the humiliation. She took his chin in her hand and tilted his head left and right, poking her finger in his mouth more than once.

It was uncomfortable. Felix tried not to fidget, because he knew she didn’t like it when he did something that could get in her way, but he couldn’t stop himself from squirming. He was uncomfortable. “You have sharper teeth,” she noted. “You should have told me. I very much doubt you didn’t feel anything.”

Felix didn’t reply, instead closing his mouth and running his tongue furiously over the parts of his mouth that weren’t incredibly sharp. He felt wrong. “Use your words, Felix,” she prompted, and he held back a sigh.

“My jaw felt heavy,” he said. “But I didn’t think much of it.” That was a lie, but she didn’t need to know that. He didn’t think she could tell when he was lying, anyway. It seemed like she bought it, though, because she moved on just as usual, and unconsciousness claimed him once again.

The next change came very suddenly. All at once, with no warning, no build up. He woke up one day (morning? Night? Time had no meaning, but he tended to think of the times he woke up as morning) and he could hear...everything.

There were people moving above him, which finally confirmed what he’d thought all along; he was underground. He could hear their steps and make out what they were saying, but they spoke in a language he couldn’t understand.

He could see, as well. The room was normally too dark to make out more than the vague outlines of the bed he always woke up on, the cage at the opposite end of the room. But now he could see everything. He could smell everything. He could smell himself, and that was...well. It wasn’t pleasant, to say the least.

There was so much it was...overwhelming. It was like being out of this situation again, back when he felt like the odd one out at every gathering, in every tutoring session. Back then, he’d always felt like the world was happening faster for him than it was for everyone else, yet he still somehow moved slower than all of them.

It all got so much worse when the woman came to the door; he could hear her, now, on the other side of the thick wall. He shrank away from the noise, the bright light, the scent which registered as familiar but undeniably hostile.

“Oh, Felix, has something happened?” she asked, and it felt like her voice was grating against his ears. It was all he could do not to raise his hands to them to block out the sound; that, at least, was an impulse he had lots of practise resisting. No one had liked it back home.

Home. He missed it, even if every reminder was of something unpleasant. It was so much better than here.

“I can hear things,” was what he settled on, because words were hard when everything happening around him was so loud, so bright.

“More than before?” she asked. He nodded. “What about sight? Scent?” He nodded again, and for once she didn’t prompt him into speaking. It was a relief, if only a temporary one.

She tested it, because of course she did. She tested everything. She shone lights into his eyes, played sounds at different pitches, and noted how he responded to things. She always did, and he imagined she did more of it when he was asleep. She just needed him to be able to react to test these things.

She didn’t tell him her results; she never did when she just observed things. It was only when there was a problem, when there was something she wanted to taunt him with, that she ever said a word. She just handed him the potion when she’d had her fill and let him drift away again.

-

_ “Felix, how are you even…” _

_ “I don’t know. But this is how it happened, and it’s not over yet.” _

* * *

After that, the changes seemed to stop. There was no change in any part of his body, and Felix began to adjust to the way things had changed. But he only got a few scarce moments in between constant prodding, constantly watching his blood leave his body.

He could tell the woman was getting frustrated again, and that was never a good sign. She clearly wanted something to move on, something to happen that she could observe, but she didn’t tell him what. She’d never even told him what she was aiming for, even though he knew there must be something.

He was sick of it. He wanted it to end. He wanted to feel like his time was his own, like his body was his own. Rather than just accepting that his life was passing him by and he was shut away.

“Just stop,” Felix said one day. His voice sounded heavier than he’d expected it to. “It’s not like anything is going to change any time soon.”

The woman hesitated for a moment. “There was a pause before,” she reminded him. As if he didn’t know that. As if he wasn’t waiting with baited breath for the next thing this Goddess forsaken testing took from him. “The changes will come.”

“But they haven’t actually achieved anything,” he snapped. He didn’t know where it was coming from, but the rage just...boiled over. “Some of them have changed something I actually need. I don’t want anything else to happen.”

“Oh Felix, Felix,” she said, her voice light. It was the same taunt as always, chiding him for a hundred different things he couldn’t control. “It seems like your temper is getting the better of you. Have you always been like that?”

The words immediately set Felix on edge, and anything he was going to say in reply (he’d half prepared a retort, angry and frustrated with everything she always said) freezing in his throat. He didn’t know. Was he always like that? Was she pointing out something new she’d noticed, telling him that another round of changes was on the way?

With each day that followed, Felix felt frustration rising in his lungs all the time. He was angry that he was still here. Angry that he’d been reduced like this, to something...he didn’t know. He didn’t want to think about it. And with that anger came fear, because he didn’t know if these things had always set him on edge. The world before felt like a blurry haze, something he could no longer imagine completely. Who was to say what he was like before an endless cycle of nothingness and his blood boiling in his veins?

It wasn’t just the way he felt frustrated or the way he wanted to snap at everything that moved (the woman, mostly, but sometimes there was a shadow of something not quite real that made him startle). There were other things. One day, he woke on the bed just as always, but he was curled in a ball rather than flat on his back.

It was small. It was probably insignificant. But when everything was the same, day after day after day, a tiny change didn’t feel small. It felt like his world had shifted from underneath him just slightly, and it made him...afraid.

He had more energy, too. Every waking moment, he wanted to move. He wanted to run around in the small space that he could sort of call his own. But he swallowed down the urge, because he didn’t need the woman noticing anything different about him. He didn’t want her drawing attention to it. He rearranged the blankets each time he woke up, making sure they were smoothed out.

But then again, it wasn’t like she wasn’t noticing things that changed. Without saying anything, she started adding more to the food he was given. But it wasn’t more of everything; it was more meat. He’d barely even noticed that he’d gone off the greens, but he had. And she’d noticed.

It made him feel like he was being watched even when he didn’t realise it. He started feeling her presence everywhere, jumping at a flicker in the light outside his door, startling at every movement in the building above.

He felt awful. He woke earlier and earlier, which gave him more time to himself but even more time to realise that he didn’t...feel like himself anymore. He felt different, and he wasn’t sure if it was passing time or what had happened to him or another change he was going through. He didn’t think he wanted to know either.

Everything went as normal, until one day after he’d eaten his meal, the woman didn’t appear. He waited a little longer. He had no way to tell what time it was, but he was certain that she should have showed up by now.

That was when he felt heat pooling in his chest, and he understood what was happening. There was only one thing that had made this happen in the past. He tried to resist it. Tried to breathe evenly, keep his thoughts clear, anything to stop himself from falling into that feeling of complete helplessness as his whole body and mind rebelled against him.

It didn’t work. When he woke again, his body hurt all over. He could make out a spot in the corner of the room where the walls had been scratched, again and again, and his fingertips ached in tandem. The hay that had been packed into the mattress of the bed was scattered all over the floor, and he was nestled in a heap of blankets in the spot furthest from the door.

The woman came in, and the smile on her face was...sickening. Felix wanted to scratch it away. “I don’t often tell you about my observations,” she said, attaching the chain to his wrist just like always. “But I think you’ll want to hear this one.”

Felix stayed silent. He didn’t know if he did. “In the handful of times that you’ve been under the influence of that particularly delightful combination of magic and medicine, you’ve talked to yourself. That time, you whined. Growled. Like some kind of animal.”

Felix tried not to bite his lip, knowing that he’d probably draw blood. He didn’t think he could cope with something else hurting right now. Fortunately, she let him keep to himself; she had plenty more to taunt him with.

“You know, Felix,” she said, her voice light, taunting. He knew that tone back to front by now. “When I first caught you here, I wrote to your father. But when I received his reply, he said he had no living sons.” A chill crept down Felix’s spine. He felt sick, but still she continued. “Does Felix Hugo Fraldarius even exist? Are you anyone at all, or are you just a beast?”

Felix didn’t know anymore, and it frightened him.

-

_ “Felix, you-” _

_ “I know now. But at the time…” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't read the full chapter, here is a summary of events:  
> -Felix runs away from home after the confrontation with his father  
> -He encounters Cornelia, who offers him drugged food and water  
> -Felix wakes up in a cage and attempts to cry out for help  
> -Cornelia wears his resolve down until he accepts regular sleeping potions from her  
> -She asks if she can experiment on his Crest  
> -When he refuses, she gives him a concoction that causes severe pain and restlessness  
> -He agrees to be experimented on  
> -Cornelia tests his Crest  
> -She repeatedly withdraws blood from his body  
> -The power of Felix's Crest increases, giving him reason magic ability he didn't have before  
> -When this accidentally harms her, she gives him the concoction again  
> -The experiments continue, with Felix becoming increasingly disoriented until he is unable to walk  
> -Cornelia is concerned, as this isn't going to plan, but continues the process  
> -Felix is eventually able to work out that he can walk, but only on all fours  
> -As the process continues, Felix's teeth get sharper  
> -Then his senses improve, making many things overwhelming  
> -While nothing physically changes as time goes on, Felix's mental state deteriorates, and he becomes anxious and more frustrated  
> -When Cornelia gives him the concoction again, she taunts him, saying he seemed more animalistic  
> -She doubts whether the person he claimed to be before ever existed at all


	8. The Light at the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix recounts the rest of his imprisonment and everything that brought him back to Sylvain's side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some heavier segments. If you want to skip the worst of it, please go to "it...gets better, after this".  
> If you'd prefer to skip to the end of Felix's imprisonment entirely, please go to "Felix woke up alone in the forest."  
> As before, I'll put a summary of events in the end note.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter are: dehumanisation, depersonalisation, ableism (surrounding being nonverbal), referenced animal death, mentions of blood, gaslighting, human experimentation, drugging, violent thoughts  
> And for the post-imprisonment section, there's: anxiety, poisoning reference (no actual poisoning or drugging), mild blood, referenced canonical character death, implied transphobia

Felix could feel himself slipping away, just as the woman said he was. He didn’t know if it was something she’d planned, or just something she’d noticed in the absence of anything else changing. All he knew was that he didn’t feel things in the way he would if he was completely himself.

Every time he saw that woman, he wanted to kill her. He could feel his hands clench into fists as he suppressed the urge to let his magic flow through him and into her body. He wanted to see her bleed. He wanted to see the end of her life; he wanted to  _ be  _ that end, if he could.

It wasn’t just about her. It was himself, too. Every time his thoughts strayed even slightly, he found himself with his fingernails dug into the palms of his hands. He felt his body coiled so tightly in on itself that every muscle in his body screamed. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to exist in a world that was the same, day after day.

Because things continued as normal. He dreamed of horrible things he could barely remember. He woke up. He ate. He tried not to pick at his arms as he heard the way everyone moved above him; free people, people who could do what they wanted. People who must have heard when he cried for help but had done nothing. He wanted all of them to suffer, too, if he could make that happen.

The woman came in, asked how he was feeling. He paused. She told him to speak. He lied and told her that nothing was different, that everything was perfectly fine. He didn’t know if she could tell.

She chained him by the wrist and led him down the corridor. Everything was the same. Nothing ever changed. But this time, when she went to fill yet another vial with his blood, went to do something that she’d never explained and clearly had no intention of stopping, he’d had enough.

Felix didn’t even think about it. He leapt from the bed where he was seated and lunged at her. He managed to knock her to the ground before every muscle in his body froze in the same way it had when she’d forced him to drink so many...he didn’t even know. A long time ago. Back when he was a different person. A real person.

She picked his frozen body up from the ground as if he weighed nothing and put him back on the bed. She went about the rest of her routine as usual, not saying a word. Staring at him. Calculating. He wouldn’t get away with what he’d done, that much he knew. He’d made a mistake.

The next time he woke up he knew something was different from the moment she arrived. “Come on, beast,” she said.

It set Felix on edge. What had happened to the routine? The greeting, followed by the question, followed by the prompt, followed by the lie. That was how it was meant to go. He looked away from her pointedly as she chained him up by the wrist, determined not to show her how bothered he was by the diversion from what he was used to.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. “I didn’t think you wanted to be spoken to as you’re used to, considering your recent behaviour. If you’re going to act like an animal, I’ll treat you like one. Come on.”

From then on, her voice was cold, detached. He hadn’t realised just how much there was to the way she interacted with him until it was gone. He hadn’t realised just how much he would suffer now she wouldn’t talk to him as she did before.

The days wore on, and even when he did have questions to answer, reasons to open his mouth, he only felt more cornered. It felt like all the parts of him he was familiar with were...receding. He didn’t know how long it would be until there was nothing left. He just lived a cycle that didn’t make any sense. He was a beast worth no more than a few minutes of this woman’s time.

It must be the process she was putting him through. It was doing something to his mind, but she wasn’t talking about it. She wasn’t helping him. It was just as before, but he didn’t know how to solve this. He didn’t know if he could.

One day, he woke up feeling tense. Embarrassed. Nothing had even happened yet, and still-

“Why are you sleeping on the bed, little beast?” the woman asked. Felix shot upright, fingers buried in the blanket to prevent himself from curling his hands into fists. She’d only notice. She’d only comment on the violence, the lack of control. He’d only slip further.

He didn’t know why he was still asleep when she came in, or how he only woke up when she entered the room. But what he did notice, now his mind was waking up, was that the bed was damp. He’d sweated through the sheets.

“Well, beast?” she asked. “Use your words.”

Felix felt that ugly feeling curl in his throat again, but he managed to swallow it down. “I always sleep in the bed,” he replied.

The woman made her way closer, and wrinkled her nose as she did. Felix felt embarrassment rise in his chest. It had been...he didn’t know, because time didn’t mean anything here and he’d lost track of how many times he’d been awake and how many times he’d been asleep- but that wasn’t the point. The terrors that chased him at night were always bad, but this hadn’t happened before.

“You’re a beast, and you’re not even house trained,” the woman said, stalking ever closer. “Perhaps it’s not a good idea for you to sleep on that.” Felix tried to lift his gaze to meet her eyes, but he withered under her stare. “Don’t you have anything else to say?”

He shook his head. She looked at him, and he could practically hear the words. He’d heard them so many times. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t.”

“Go on then,” she said, pointing at the ground. Felix felt like he was being talked down to. Was she always so patronising, or was he just imagining another change that wasn’t there? “Off you get.”

Carefully, Felix collected the sheets and blankets from the bed and moved them to the floor. Every second she spent watching him, he felt like she’d snatch them all away, tell him he was too beastly to use a blanket. He stood, for a moment, with all of them gathered in his arms, watching her. She was watching him.

“Well, hurry up,” she said. “I don’t have all the time in the world.” Felix dropped the bedding on the floor. He’d probably just arrange it next time he was awake, a time when she wasn’t watching him for every tiny movement, waiting to point out a habit that wasn’t human, but was him.

The woman just made a noise Felix couldn’t interpret, and the usual routine resumed. Day in, day out, except now he woke up on the floor. And everything in his mind spun around a little more.

He wasn’t surprised when one day, the woman didn’t appear. He wasn’t surprised when he felt heat start rising in his stomach. He could barely summon up an attempt to resist it, knowing by now that anything he tried was pointless.

When he was aware of himself again, there was the taste of blood in his mouth. In the centre of the room, there was a...mess. Blood and fur and- he didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about what that said about him.

But he had to, because the woman came in soon after. “Ah, beast,” she said. “I wondered if you’d be able to resist the temptation. But I suppose you don’t have many thoughts in your head, do you? Especially not when I leave food just lying around like that.”

It wasn’t the taste of blood in Felix’s mouth that made him want to throw up, but maybe that was even worse. He  _ should _ feel ill after what he’d done, but he didn’t. “It was what you did to me,” he grated out.

“Oh, was it?” she asked. “You know, sometimes I wonder how much further this could actually go. When it’s over, will you consider yourself human? Do you even see yourself as one now?”

Felix didn’t answer. He didn’t think he had an answer. If he did, he didn’t think he’d like it.

The process continued. Day after day after day, Felix could practically feel the way he was shrinking in on himself. The woman became chattier as she saw it, knowing that he was struggling to even keep his mind in one place for the few short moments he spent conscious in a day.

She asked him questions. “How are you feeling?” He didn’t have an answer. “Use your words, beast.”

“Fine,” he said. A lie that both of them saw plainly.

“Why won’t you tell the truth?” was another question she asked, on another day. He didn’t know. “Use your words, beast.”

He grated out some semblance of an answer. He couldn’t remember what it was.

“Do you even remember who you were, beast?” The question, asked after what must have been weeks of experiences Felix couldn’t keep a hold of in his mind, cut him to his core. He didn’t have an answer. He didn’t know if the person he could see himself as, in that hazy past, was really him or not. Maybe it was a false memory. “Use your words, come on.”

“Felix,” was the answer he gave. The word felt heavy on his tongue, purposeful, but it didn’t make him feel much better. Especially not with the expression he received in return. One he couldn’t even fathom.

One day, Felix woke with a heavy feeling sitting on his chest. Perhaps in his chest. He didn’t know what it was, could barely describe it. It was just...something. Something cold but soft, suffocating, and it wrapped in tendrils around his throat.

He couldn’t speak. The woman prompted him once, twice. “Use your words, beast,” she repeated, three times, and he couldn’t answer. He could barely remember what the question was or whether it even required an answer. Whether he had responded at all. Whether he was even real.

Everything felt uncomfortably close. And the words wouldn’t come.

* * *

_ “Felix, please, don’t-” _

_ “It’s nearly done. It...gets better, after this.” _

* * *

Unsurprisingly, the woman continued as normal, her taunts repeating. She knew she was hurting him. She knew he couldn’t reply. She continued to needle at him, telling him how disappointing it was that he just couldn’t speak.

He didn’t know how long he spent, unable to communicate through anything other than soft noises of fear and anger that the woman mocked endlessly but he couldn’t stop from escaping his mouth as she pushed him further and further into a corner that had no end point. Maybe it was a long time. Maybe a short time. There was no way for him to tell.

“I think this has gone far enough,” she said one day. “Who knows how much of yourself you have left to lose?”

Felix failed to bite back a growl, and she sighed in reply. “Are you happy with how you are now? Or should I wait for a couple of things to reverse before I set to stabilising the state I’ve created in your blood?” He didn’t know what it meant, but what he did know is that she asked the question with the knowledge that he couldn’t actually reply.

“I think I’ll just go straight to stabilising this,” she said. “Seeing as you don’t have any objections.” Felix could only whine and shake his head in response, but she ignored the clear message he was sending. He knew that if he was able to speak, she’d ignore him; she always had in the past.

The new testing was...different. When he woke up, he had some time to himself. Too long to just sit around and dread what was going to happen next, though there was a lot of that. On some days, the woman didn’t come at all.

It was strange. He hadn’t had so much time to himself in- a long time. But when he was alone, instead of feeling the pressure of what was to come, he...didn’t know. He could breathe, just a little. He could move without feeling like she was going to come in and mock him.

She stopped mocking him so much even when she did show up. And when she examined him, she didn’t take any more blood. She didn’t give him that concoction to knock him out. She took notes on a few things and left him there. And then he went back to the cell just like before.

He got to practise walking in a way that was more comfortable for longer periods of time. He even attempted standing on just his legs, sometimes, though that was difficult. He spent time sitting on the mattress of the bed, even if he didn’t sleep there.

Most of all, he had the space to just think. And as he thought, his head cleared a little. The weight on his chest lifted. Fewer things made him panic. He could adjust to the sounds coming from above him, learn the way that things tended to move up there. He didn’t know what time was day and what was night, but he could get some sense of relatively what part of a day it was. The time when they were loud, the time when they were quiet - it wasn’t time, but it was a way to track the hours.

And he could sleep when he wanted to. He didn’t know what it was, but there was something about...he could go to bed and just think. He could lie there and close his eyes and imagine who he was now, who he had been. He could draw parallels. Think about things he missed. Attempt to recall buried memories.

He couldn’t remember what Glenn’s face looked like anymore. Or anyone he’d loved, not really. He tried not to be upset, but it hurt. But the hurt over that showed him that maybe he was still sort of human, and that gave him hope, in a way.

“If you want anything in particular, you need to ask,” the woman said after what must have been several weeks of the new routine. “I have no idea which of the changes in you are permanent, so you just need to get used to it. But what you want to do while I settle all of this is yours to choose.”

“Books,” he said immediately, and he watched her expression shift to one of surprise. For a long time, he’d struggled to do anything with any kind of spontaneity. It was like there was a gap between his mind and his actions. But this time it came naturally. “Light.”

“I suppose it’s too much to ask for manners from a beast,” she said, but she didn’t deny his request. When he woke up the next day, there was a box of matches, a candle, and a stack of books on the floor by the door.

Reading wasn’t really what he wanted to do with the books, but he did a lot of that too. The books weren’t exactly interesting, but he found he couldn’t bring himself to put them down once he picked them up. It had been so long since he’d been able to just read. It was comforting he hadn’t forgotten how to entirely.

What he wanted with the books was to practise speaking. He wanted to read aloud. If he could just force the words out, one after another, maybe it would become easier. Maybe he’d be able to speak in more than just single words.

Once he made it through a chapter aloud, he moved on to trying to force out what he wanted to say without the stimulus of a book in front of him. These were his own words, and they were harder, but he knew he could do it if he just had time. And he had plenty of it.

“What are you going to do with me once you’re done and I’ve stabilised?” he asked one day. It took a few false starts, a few pauses, but he managed it. The woman looked surprised. He didn’t understand what the stabilising part meant, but he’d heard her say it plenty of times before - he knew that was what she was aiming for now.

“I won’t do anything with you,” she said, and he tried not to let the fear that answer caused steal the words from his mouth. He breathed in. He breathed out. She continued. “I’ve had my fun; I don’t think there’s any more that can be done with you in a lab environment. You’ll be able to do as you please.”

Felix nodded. The next words stuck in his throat for a moment, but they were also achingly familiar. He’d spoken this many times before. “I want a sword.”

It was difficult. It was  _ really _ difficult. But Felix had time, and when the only things to do were to read the same books over and over or to try and regain the one thing he really, desperately needed to get back, he knew what he was going to do. He was waiting for his freedom, and he wanted to be able to make the most of it.

A light at the end of the darkness was starting to become clear, and that pushed him through the pain, the dizziness. Slowly, he worked his way from being convinced that his inability to walk like a regular person was permanent to maybe just hoping that he’d be able to do it with a lot of practise.

It took time, but with a sword in hand, things felt a little more natural. A little more real. He could ground himself with familiar motions and build them into something new, something that made sense to his body now everything had changed.

With each day, a little more of the dizziness receded. Every time he woke up, the muscles in his legs felt a little stronger. He could stand again, move again. Sometimes he stumbled, and he felt most comfortable close to the ground, but he could do it. As that started to happen, he requested the ability to go back into the training area he’d used only once, when he first arrived. Surprisingly, the woman granted it.

It made a lot of difference to be able to get out of the spaces he’d spent who knew how long in (she knew how long - he asked, once or twice, but she never told him). As he went through familiar training drills, practised familiar movements, he felt more...like himself. He wasn’t the same as he was before all this happened - he didn’t think he ever would be. But he was something recognisable as the boy who trusted the wrong person when searching for the road to Fhirdiad.

“I think you’ve stabilised,” she said. For some reason, as she spoke those words while he sat on the examination bed, his heart started to beat faster. “There’s no need for my presence here to monitor you any more. So what happens next, beast?”

For a moment, just a moment, his mind wavered on staying. He had no idea what had happened since he left his home in Fraldarius. He didn’t know how long it had been. If he stayed, he wouldn’t have to find out if anyone else had died. If anything else had changed.

But there were also so many things he desperately needed to know. Why hadn’t his father come for him? How was Dimitri doing? What about Ingrid or Sylvain? Had they worried for him? How had they grown without him?

Maybe the answers to those questions were things he didn’t really want to know. But he needed to know the truth, even if it hurt. Because a lot of things hurt in life, and he was ready to experience that on his own terms. Not on anyone else’s.

“I want to go,” he said firmly.

“It’s as good as done,” the woman replied. “But first, let me tell you something. I told you long ago that when I succeeded in my experiments, I’d tell you what I did.” Felix’s breath caught in his throat. Finally, finally, he’d find out what this witch had done to him. “But I think my experiment failed; the changes stopped happening and you broke into animalistic but never managed to go beyond. That was what I was looking for. So no, I won’t tell you what I did.”

Felix gritted his teeth. He had no idea who this woman was but he was going to prove her wrong. He was better than what she had done to him. But he didn’t say it; he was so close. He could practically taste his freedom. The woman held out her hand to give him the potion, and he took it. The world faded to black.

* * *

_ “And that’s it? Goddess, Felix, you’re so-” _

_ “Not exactly. I think there are some explanations I still owe you.” _

_ “You don’t owe me-” _

_ “Shush. I do. And I  _ want  _ to tell you, so let me.” _

* * *

Felix woke up alone in the forest. There was snow both underneath and settled on top of him, and he’d just spent a long time indoors. He was cold. Freezing, even.

There were birds. He could hear them all above him. He could hear animals making their way along the ground. Big animals, small animals. He could hear a brook running, somewhere close, fast with the swell from the snowfall.

He took a long, deep breath in. The air was crisp, full of scents he’d thought he’d never smell again. The light around him was bright, so bright, reflecting off the snow and nearly blinding him the first time he tried to look through the trees.

He breathed in. He breathed out. He felt panic start to rise in his chest.

It wasn’t that he found it difficult to survive. He could find shelter under the trees, in shallow caves, under shelters that had been abandoned at the end of the autumn hunting season. He could find - and kill - animals without too much difficulty, and he’d been raised on the knowledge of which of the winter berries were safe to eat.

It wasn’t that. That was easy. The problem was people.

Felix had not been in contact with anyone for...however long it was. He couldn’t tell from the environment how long it had been, because everything was different. Everything was overwhelming. He didn’t even know where he was, let alone how to check the world for subtle signs of how things had changed.

So when he saw any sign of civilization, he ran away. He saw a hunting group off in the distance, with a couple of dogs. The dogs spotted him, barked, and he ran away. Through a stream, so they’d lose his scent. And the water was freezing, so he didn’t do that lightly.

He didn’t know what he’d do if he spoke to a person again. Maybe they would recognise him just like that woman had, and then what would he do? Maybe they’d see him for the wild animal he was - he’d caught sight of his reflection in the water, once or twice. His hair was long and unkempt, his eyes full of something he couldn’t quite describe.

Maybe they’d pity him. Maybe they’d kill him. He didn’t know, and that was what was so terrifying.

But it was getting colder. He’d been released, by chance, at the onset of winter, and it was getting far too cold to sleep out in the near-open without furs. So, once, barely even thinking, Felix strayed close to a settlement. Just a small village, nothing important.

Someone spotted him when he was on the outskirts, even though it was dark outside. “Hello?” they called. Felix ducked behind a tree. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking, coming so close; maybe his plan had been to sleep in someone’s barn overnight.

“Are you lost?” called the voice again. “I can help you find who you’re looking for, if you’ll just come in for a while. Is that okay?”

They thought he was a child. A lost child, looking for a parent or a friend. He supposed he was, in a way, but he still...he was afraid. He didn’t know what he’d do once they invited him in properly. What would he say? What could he say about what had happened to him, how he’d ended up in this situation? Would they believe him?

He ran away. The voice called after him until he was out of earshot - long out of any normal human’s earshot, and yet they still called.

That night was bitterly cold, and Felix wasn’t convinced he could survive another. Through the shivering, his mind drifted almost constantly to the kind, warm sound to that stranger’s voice, the lack of hesitation. The lights that danced in the windows of the house.

He returned the next day.

There was a woman living in the house, along with a mother. It was the younger woman who’d called out to him the night before, and she recognised him when he appeared in the garden again. “Oh, hello there,” she said. “You look absolutely freezing. Do you want to come inside?”

He nodded, and she let him in through the door without a word. She sat him down on her sofa in front of the fire, wrapped him in a blanket, and tried to hand him a bowl of what looked like stew. Felix eyed it warily. He couldn’t take it. Who knew what could be in it? “Aren’t you hungry?” she asked. After a moment, he nodded. The words still stuck in his throat a little. He was out of practise - he didn’t know how long he’d been completely on his own in the wilderness.

“Well, the stew is on the side if you decide to take it,” she said. “I cooked it myself, and I can show you the ingredients, if you like? I promise there aren’t any poisonous berries in it.” She laughed, and she sounded so...genuine. Nothing like the woman whose voice had always been laced with lies.

She set the bowl of stew down on the stable. Felix eyed it. Then, she brought the large pot over, away from above the fire, and pulled out a bowl for herself. “See?” she said, taking a large spoonful. “It’s good, but maybe I’m saying that because I made it myself.”

Seeing her eat it, he could relax a little. Felix took the bowl and practically inhaled its contents - there wasn’t much meat in it, but he’d live. It was warm, and that was better than he’d been able to say for a long time.

The woman who’d welcomed him in was patient. She chatted away about nothing in particular for a while - the school she had just finished attending, how she was a little worried about the future, the fact that her adoptive father was away on a business trip. It was nothing, but it was also…

It was so normal. She spoke to him like he was perfectly fine, if a little spooked - which was accurate - and he didn’t feel like he was being spoken down to at all. She smiled at him like he was real. She looked at him like he was a person, like she actually cared about what he felt and thought and-

He could feel the emotions welling up inside of him, so he pushed them down. He didn’t know what he’d do if he felt too strongly, what kind of things he’d show accidentally. While this woman had been incredibly kind so far, he didn’t want to squander that. Couldn’t let it go to waste.

Once he’d finished eating, he let himself lean back on the sofa. “Do you need anything else?” she asked. “I can’t really offer you a bath, but I could heat a pan of water for you.”

Felix shook his head. He was aware that, for now, he was probably dirtying up this house, but he couldn’t bear the thought of discarding his clothes where this woman could see him. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

“Oh, so you can speak!” she said, her smile bright. Fear seized him for just a moment, but barely a second later he realised that she was just pleased. She wasn’t angry that he hadn’t spoken before, wasn’t frustrated that it had taken him this long. “I’m glad.”

Felix shifted on the spot. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. He could barely think of how to smile, but he attempted it, and the woman beamed back. “Can I ask you something?” he asked. “It’s going to...sound strange.”

“Oh, that’s perfectly alright,” she said. “Trust me, I just invited in someone I thought was a mute, abandoned child. In the light, I can see the truth is a little different, but...it still stands. I’m expecting something a little strange.”

“I’m a-” He didn’t know why he stumbled over his words, but he did. “I’m a man who’s been...lost. For a while.” Her face was sympathetic as he continued. “Where am I? What...year is it?”

“Would you like me to get a map and show you?” she asked, and he nodded. She stood, turning away from him as she spoke her next answer. “It’s the closing months of 1178, if you’ll believe it. Goddess, time really does fly.”

1178\. Felix felt suddenly as if everything was very far away. He’d known, of course, that he had been gone a very long time. But he’d imagined...no, he didn’t know what he’d imagined. He didn’t have a clue. But he’d run away from home in the opening months of 1176. It had been almost three years. And if the year was closing, it was-

“Are you alright?” the woman asked. “I’m sorry if that was a shock for you, but you did ask, and- can I help?”

Felix bit his lip. He felt it sting, and raised a hand to his mouth quickly to cover up what he knew was there; he’d definitely drawn blood. He couldn’t speak. His mind was going too fast. It was 1178. 1178.

“I’m going to fetch that map,” she said. “Take a moment to yourself, okay? We can talk it through if you need to.” He nodded, still feeling thoroughly numb. He didn’t know what to do with that information, didn’t know how to process it.

If the winter was just beginning to get truly bitter, maybe it was...the Wyvern Moon? The Red Wolf Moon? He didn’t know what his tolerance for the cold was like now. If it was that late in the year, Goddess...he’d been gone for so long. He was fifteen. He felt so much older and so much younger at the same time.

“I’m going to set this out on the table,” the woman said, spreading a map out in front of him. He could see, clearly marked, all the major regions of Faerghus, the most notable trading routes - clearly a merchant’s map. “We are...here.” She pointed to a spot just a short distance from Fhirdiad. “Everything alright?”

“I’ve been gone since Duscur happened,” he said, and her mouth formed a small ‘o’ as she looked at him.

“But you’re so young!” she cried. “Oh, I’m so sorry, no wonder that was such a nasty shock. I didn’t realise.”

“It’s fine,” he said. Some of the feeling was starting to come back into his lungs, at least, and he was sort of able to think again. “Do you have a...small map? A traveller’s one?”

The woman hummed. “I don’t think you should be leaving any time soon,” she said. His muscles locked up again. “I’m not going to keep you, but I don’t think you should be travelling all that far in this weather. Where are you going?” She looked, a little nervously, out towards the snow spiralling through the dark skies outside.

“Fraldarius lands,” he said, forcing his limbs to relax a little. “I lived in- the main city. By the manor.”

“Do you have family waiting for you there?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

“I hope so,” he said. He couldn’t be sure, but maybe...hopefully his father would take him back.

“Well, I’m not one to stop you,” she said, though she looked a little hesitant. “Please, though, get some rest for tonight. Are you happy to sleep here?”

He nodded, knowing that as soon as she was gone he’d pull the blanket she’d given him onto the floor and curl up where it was comfier. Maybe right next to the fire- that sounded good.

Once the poor weather had passed, the woman was happy to let him go. She sent him off with another one of her beaming smiles, a bag full of provisions, a winter coat, and a travelling map. Felix insisted that he could do something for her before leaving to help pay, or send her money when he was home, but she shook her head fervently. 

“I just want to help you,” she said. “Knowing that you’ll be okay is plenty enough reward for me. May the Goddess light your path home.”

“One thing,” he said, wanting to know at least this. He was sick of everything being secretive, everything unknown. “Could you tell me your name?” The woman smiled, opened her mouth, and said-

* * *

_ “Mercedes von Martritz.” _

_ “Got it in one.” _

_ “Goddess, she really is a saint.” _

* * *

For a little while, Felix worried that maybe leaving Mercedes was the wrong idea. As he got closer and closer to home, hit the main road, and started to see signs of things he remembered from journeys as a child, he only got more nervous.

Was he really going home? Would his father welcome him back? Would his father even be there, be alive at all? As he travelled, he saw so many signs of terrible things. People’s homes, razed to the ground. Bandits running wild on the highways he knew had once been called safe. It didn’t make sense. His father would never allow this.

His anxiety mounted as he reached the city surrounding his childhood home. He was practically shaking as he took the final few steps towards the entrance to the castle keep. “Papers,” the guard said. “You’re not going to get through here looking like that, kid.”

Felix scowled, took a deep breath, and tried to think of what to do next. He could  _ see  _ his father just a short distance away, in the courtyard, drilling some knights himself. But he couldn’t get in, because he didn’t have any papers. “I don’t have any,” he said. He’d never needed any to go somewhere when he travelled under the Fraldarius banner.

“Get lost then,” the guard said. He wasn’t someone Felix recognised, and he clearly didn’t recognise Felix himself. “Street urchins aren’t welcome here. We’re not taking squires for the knights, as much as I know it’s a good opportunity for a kid like you.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a squire,” he said firmly. The guard scowled. “Please let me through. To see the Duke. It’s important, I swear.”

“It can’t be important enough,” the guard replied. “His Grace is very, very busy with many things. He doesn’t have time for little squirts to waste his time. What do you want with him, anyway?”

Felix sucked a deep breath in. “It’s about his missing child,” he said.

The guard froze. “The Duke’s children both died a couple of years ago, runt,” he said. His voice was far more hostile now. Clearly, Felix was a sore subject. He didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign. “If you’re here to report on something for the hope of some quick cash, you better get lost.”

“I’m not asking for any money,” he said firmly. His hands were shaking, but he had to get through, and he knew the guards would just throw him out if he tried to force his way in. “I just want his time. Just for a short while, that’s enough.”

“Enough for what?” the guard asked.

“It’s incredibly important,” he said. He didn’t want the guard to know who he was. He wanted his father to know. He wanted his father to turn around and see him. He just needed to know what had happened, why he’d been gone for this long. If no one had found him in over two years, they must have given up on looking. Why?

“You’re not going to convince me like that,” the guard said firmly. “You’re out of luck, kid. Leave before I make you, and don’t come back.”

“Please!” he called, raising his voice. Maybe if his father heard this time, maybe it would go right. Maybe something would go right for once in this Goddess forsaken life.

“What’s going on here?” His father had turned around. He was walking towards them, a stern look on his face- clearly, he wasn’t pleased to be interrupted.

For a moment, when their eyes met, Felix’s heart filled with fear. His father would turn away. He’d refused to go back for him once, and this guard didn’t recognise him, so he could make that choice again. He could turn away and Felix would finally know why he’d been left in that hell for so long.

But the fear only lasted a moment. His father’s eyes lit up with...something. Something warm and excited and  _ pained _ _,_ and Felix only had a moment’s warning before his father’s face split into a grin like he’d never seen before and he dashed past the now very confused guard.

His father’s arms locked around his body, and Felix stiffened. If there was anything he hadn’t been expecting, it was that. “You’re back,” his father said. His voice cracked, and for some reason Felix thought for a moment that he might be crying. “Goddess, I thought you were - Fe-”

“Felix,” he said, his heart rushing. “Felix. Not- not that.” He swallowed the reflex to apologise as his father pulled away, holding him at arm’s length.

“Felix,” he said, softly. There  _ were _ tears in his eyes. “Of course. Felix…”

“Hugo,” he replied, and he couldn’t stop the smile that graced his face at such a simple question. “Felix Hugo.”

“Welcome home, Felix,” his father said. “I...truly the Goddess has blessed me today. I can scarcely believe you’ve returned.”

* * *

_ “Your father was a good man.” _

_ “Yes...he was.” _

* * *

Things were...well, past that first interaction, things were a little tense. Felix could feel the guilt and regret coming from his father every time they were in the same room together - frequently, as much as Felix wished his father would give him a little more space.

Silence stretched between them. When his father had seen just how uncomfortable he was with everyone around him when eating, they moved to taking their meals just the two of them, but now it was so much clearer that neither of them knew where to begin.

In spite of the happiness that had come with their reunion, there were a hundred things hanging over his head. Felix knew he had changed, and that there were many years between them and the incident, but the bitterness of their last interaction still hovered between them. Even with his father’s face clearly older, filled with lines, Felix could still imagine his expression when Felix had struck him so many years ago.

He’d had enough of it. His father ate silently when Felix could tell he still hadn’t said everything he wanted to. Half the sentiments from when he’d arrived had gone unvoiced, and he was sick of waiting. “You have more to say,” he forced out. “You should say it.”

His father hesitated. His voice was careful and practised when he finally replied. “I want to...reconnect with you. My lost son. I know that so much must have happened while you were away, and I cannot pretend to understand it. I just want to know what happened so I can support you through this.”

His father was referring to...many things. His hesitancy to eat with other people around, his apprehension at consuming anything before he’d seen someone else eat it first, the way he’d stumbled on the stairs because he hadn’t walked up or down any since before he’d disappeared. There were so many things that told his father that there was something wrong with him, and Felix was-

He was terrified of telling anyone. He was so afraid that his father would cast him aside if he learned what had happened. And most of all, he didn’t think he could force the words past his mouth.

“I don’t-” Felix cut himself off. He couldn’t think of a good way to tell his father that he didn’t want him to know without upsetting him. He bit his lip, cursed himself for doing it, and raised his napkin to his lips, hoping he could stem the bleeding in a short enough space of time that his father wouldn’t notice.

“It’s okay,” came the reply, and his voice was filled with understanding. It made Felix feel slightly ill for a reason he couldn’t explain.

There was also the problem of the fact that he just couldn’t trust his father. He knew that the woman who had held him in that place twisted the truth as much as she liked, but he also… There was part of him that couldn’t shake the terrible feeling that his father had known where he was and left him there. Why he thought that, he couldn’t fathom, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask either.

It continued like that - awkwardly, with stilted conversation and unspoken truths - for quite a while. His father made an effort to spend time with him, and one of those things he offered to do was go hunting. Felix wasn’t inclined to refuse.

“You know,” his father murmured as Felix pretended he couldn’t track the beast they were hunting incredibly easily, “I still can’t- every time I take my eyes off you, I expect you to vanish again. So many years without even a sign of your existence, your wellbeing...I thought you were dead.”

Felix froze. His father thought he was dead. Dead. Not held by someone in a place no one had found. Not missing, uncared for, easily replaced or forgotten. Dead.

He didn’t say anything in reply, continuing to push through the bushes - a stream lay beyond, and there would almost certainly be quarry there. It was a good way to avoid a conversation Felix didn’t want to finish; he knew enough from those few words.

His father hadn’t abandoned him.

From then onwards, things with his father became a little easier. Finally, Felix could open his mouth a little and talk about some of the more pressing things that needed to be communicated. 

“I didn’t know until just after Glenn left,” he explained, when his father idly mentioned being sorry for not realizing that he was...Felix. His son. “It was a bad time to talk about it.”

His father nodded. “I’m- I don’t think you’ll be surprised to hear that  _ I’m  _ not surprised to hear it,” he admitted. Honestly, Felix wasn’t - now he had the time and space to think about it, he was shocked that he hadn’t realised sooner himself. “I want you to know, properly, that I support you taking this step for yourself. The last thing I want would be for you to be unhappy.”

And when his father said that he would support him, he meant it. Only a handful of days later, he hired a tailor to come up to the castle and fit Felix for a full new set of clothes, for every use imaginable. He kept the things that had been sourced quickly - Glenn’s old clothes that were still around the castle for some reason, taken up and in a little - because he’d need them for training, but it felt good to have something that was  _ his _ .

The next step was, well...there had been rumours flying around about him. The individual who looked undeniably like the Duke, whom the Duke was now spending large amounts of time with and was living in the castle. Something had to be said, and the best way to say it was-

“You can’t put that in a letter,” Felix said. “I don’t want that old name in there. They all know who I am anyway, don’t they?”

“This is an official missive,” his father said. “It accounts for what is essentially a legal change of the way you are registered in the records of the nobility. Ideally, your previous name would be in there too. For the sake of clarity.”

“Can’t you just write that I was formerly your daughter?” Felix asked. Even those words tasted like ash in his mouth. He didn’t like it, but he knew the pedants had to be appeased somehow. This was him, and he wouldn’t stand for that younger version of him sticking in people’s memories in any way.

“That could work,” his father replied. “I’ll follow your lead on this. I can’t promise that no one will use the old name again, but to let it fall into obscurity...you’re right. That’s a good option, Felix. I’ll write it down.”

The other letter problem was...more complex. Felix wrote and rewrote his letters to his old friends more times than was probably helpful. Even then, the final versions were full of mistakes, full of things he wasn’t sure whether to say or not.

He wanted to see them again. The only problem was that he didn’t- he couldn’t-

It was difficult to know exactly what he was thinking these days. Even though everything was much clearer than it had been for a long time, his thoughts still jumbled in his head until it hurt, until everything hurt. And one of the things that made him feel the worst was the prospect of seeing people who had once known him again.

He didn’t want them to see him, the new Felix, and wish they had their old friend back. So what he had to do before he saw them was work on getting as much of that person back as he could. He would never be the same, but the prospect of them confirming that he’d changed beyond recognition was too much. He wouldn’t be able to bear it.

His friends wanted to see him. Sylvain’s letter returned first, full of enthusiasm and pleas to please see Felix again as soon as he was ready. Ingrid’s letter came back too - she wrote of how much she’d missed him, how terrible it had been to lose him and Glenn in one short year. She wanted to see him.

Dimitri, too, practically begged to see him again. He wrote of how much everything had changed, how he was sure Felix had changed too but he was excited for them to come together as friends again, just as they always had been. Even if things were a little different.

That was the letter that made Felix feel the worst. He didn’t know what it was, but...he didn’t want to see any of them again until he could be confident that they wouldn’t want to go back on the promises they made in that letter. He needed to know that they’d care about the new him.

So he didn’t reply. At first, he didn’t regret it. Then, he realised that it had been far too long, and he regretted not replying sooner. If he did so now, it would just look strange. They’d realise that he’d worried about replying, and then they’d think about how a Felix of the past didn’t worry that much, and then…

He just didn’t reply, and tried to keep it firmly out of his mind.

He filled his time with things other than friends - sword training was one of the things he desperately wanted to pick up properly again. He’d always done it, and it was something he absolutely needed to know he could do. Properly; not just in an attempt to train himself to walk again.

“You’re still very good,” his father said, at the end of their bout. Felix hadn’t won, but he hadn’t really been expecting to. “A little out of practise, however, and your style has changed significantly. That’s not a bad thing, of course, but you need more time with it. More confidence. And there’s one other thing, but-”

“Tell me,” Felix said firmly. He needed to know what his father had picked up on.

“The way you move is fundamentally different,” he said. “I’m a healer by training, Felix, and I may be mistaken, but...have you been injured? Is there something that forced this change? Whatever it was, I just want to know - I want to help.”

It was back to this again. The question of what had happened. The problem of being unable to help Felix with his numerous difficulties in adjusting back to life in the castle without knowing exactly what had happened first.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. He tried to keep his voice even, but even he could hear the emotions rushing behind his words. “I just want to move on.”

“I can understand that.” His father’s voice was wistful this time, and Felix had come to learn in the time that he’d been back that this meant his father was thinking about the Tragedy. “But whenever you do want to talk about something, know that I’m willing to listen.”

“I know,” he said, trying to shut the conversation down. He didn’t want to talk about this. His father opened his mouth with the same understanding, open expression, and Felix cut him off before he could even speak. “Could we talk about something else? Something about how I can actually move on.”

“What about...next year, you would have started at the Officers Academy with Dimitri and Ingrid, but I know your education has probably been- lacking?” Felix nodded. They’d had the conversation briefly before, but it hadn’t ended well. Or in Felix doing much talking at all. “Well, that might not be an option to you, but the physical side of your training is much easier to salvage. I could arrange for you to be squired, or-”

“No,” he snapped. He tried not to throw his sword across the training grounds as his blood practically burned at the suggestion. “No. Absolutely not. I will never buy into those values. You already lost Glenn. Are you so keen to lose me again?”

His father closed his mouth. Felix had said too much, and all he could think of was an echo of the face his father had made on that night he wished had never happened. “I’m not,” he said. “I apologise, Felix. You should make your own decisions in life, you’re right.”

Felix nodded. “I intend to,” he replied. He didn’t want to get involved in anything which could involve him dying. He didn’t want his father to be involved in that either - he didn’t want to lose him again.

* * *

_ “Felix…” _

_ “It’s okay. It’s fine. He made his choice.” _

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t want to see your friends, Felix?” his father asked. He’d asked every day for over a week now - he was due to spend some time up in Fhirdiad, and apparently Dimitri had asked after his presence.

“Yes,” he replied, the same as always. He and his father had struggled through several conversations about recovery from ‘whatever happened’, the benefits of relying on his friends, and a bunch of other rubbish that Felix refused to buy into. He didn’t need to talk to them. It would only make things worse.

Rodrigue visited Fhirdiad once, and then again, and then again. He was needed a lot, seeing as Dimitri couldn’t take up the throne yet (personally, Felix thought this was stupid - who cared for tradition when everything in Faerghus was falling apart?), and each time he returned he brought news of Dimitri asking after his wellbeing.

It wasn’t just Dimitri. Ingrid visited once or twice too, for some reason. Felix avoided even leaving his rooms when she was around. He didn’t want her to see him. He was getting better at working through all the parts of him that didn’t quite work in the way they used to, but it wasn’t good enough. It needed to be good enough.

Instead of seeing them, instead of even thinking about seeing them (all hours of the day, because he missed them desperately and he wanted them to miss the real him, not the one they thought they knew), Felix threw himself into studying.

When he was a child, he’d never really liked reading. It was boring, and took too much time, and he wanted to be out training with a sword instead. Now, Felix...well, he’d spent a long time being unable to do anything like it. He liked being able to control what he knew. He liked having something to work towards.

And when it came to something to work towards… “I want to attend the Officers Academy at the start of the year,” he announced over dinner. They still ate just the two of them - Felix didn’t want to eat alongside lots of other people and his father had never asked if they could go back to that.

“Are you sure?” his father asked. It wasn’t a mean spirited question - there were plenty of ways that Felix knew he would struggle if he went to the Academy - but Felix still felt the need to justify himself.

“I don’t want to be a year behind the others for the rest of my life,” he said. He didn’t- he was afraid of seeing them all again, yes, so maybe pushing himself into the Academy was a bad idea, but he also just wanted to get on with living again. He needed this.

“Of course,” he said. “I’m loath to see you go again into a situation you could find challenging, but...you’ve come a long way since you returned.” Felix thought of the way he used to shrink at every other noise, how he slept long into the afternoons because of an exhaustion that wouldn’t leave. That, at least, had passed. 

“I don’t wish to put any pressure on you to compete with them,” he continued, “and I’m happy for you to take your time. But if you do want it...I will be proud of what you achieve, regardless of what that is.”

It was a little touch and go with qualifying. Felix had missed a lot of his teaching, and it was impossible for him to catch up on all of it. That said, he’d managed to fill in a lot of the gaps, though it still wouldn’t have been enough to get in on that alone.

No, the reason he made it into the Academy was his combat mark. He’d been training near-obsessively since he returned home, to the point that his father and various instructors could no longer beat him to convince him that he should take a break. His combat mark had him coasting in.

Even with that, he was nervous to go to the Academy. He was afraid of the aspects of himself he really wasn’t proud of that he doubted he’d be able to hide. He didn’t want people to come away with an impression of him as someone...lesser. Someone not worth anyone’s time.

He was afraid that the way he was now would ruin the experience his father had said was one of the best of his life. He feared that, maybe, none of his friends would want to associate with him. He wasn’t exactly easy to be around, even with a full year to rub the harder parts of his years away into something a little more palatable.

The day he moved in didn’t convince him that things were going to be manageable. There was so much going on. It felt like everyone was going everywhere and they were having five different conversations at once. He hated riding on horseback and the journey had left him unsteady. He felt detached from everything around him.

When he met someone, he knew he’d give a bad impression. He knew he’d say the wrong thing. So he pushed his father to move quickly, to get all his stuff in his room as soon as possible so he could make an attempt at getting some rest before starting at the Academy properly. Maybe then he’d stand a better chance.

He thought he’d make it without having to interact with anyone. He climbed the stairs, opened his bedroom door for the final bags, and-

He turned and saw Sylvain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of the rest of Felix's imprisonment: Felix struggles even more as experiments continue with more violent urges towards Cornelia, and she starts treating him even worse. He gradually loses the ability to speak, and Cornelia decides that enough is enough. She halts the experiments, and Felix is able to adjust more and more, regaining his ability to speak and walk. Cornelia agrees to set him free, but deems him a failed experiment and refuses to tell him what she did to him.


	9. Journey's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix finishes telling the story of his past, and the pair of them look towards the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art by my Sylvix bb partner is in this chapter! The link to the original tweet can be found in the beginning notes to the fic :D
> 
> There is also [art](https://twitter.com/phoenx_art/status/1351575690383032321?s=20) by @phoenx_art in this chapter
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: discussion of trauma, ableism, implied homophobia

“I think you know the rest,” Felix said. And then the tears came.

Sylvain was, honestly, completely overwhelmed by the weight of what Felix had just unloaded on him. So many years of...whatever that was. So much suffering. He hadn’t blamed him for keeping it to himself even before he’d known what it was; now, he truly understood. Back when he’d first asked Felix what had happened, he probably wouldn’t have known what to do in response to the knowledge.

Now, he knew Felix a lot better. So he held out his arms and let Felix collapse into him. He wrapped as much of his body as he could around Felix’s shaking form and just let him cry. It was what he needed. Of that, Sylvain was certain.

Felix cried for a long time, and when his cries dried up into sniffles (for the third or fourth time - the tears kept restarting after all the time Felix had spent holding them back), Sylvain finally spoke.

“Goddess, Felix,” he said. “I don’t- I don’t even know where to begin, honestly.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Felix croaked. His throat was going to be sore in the morning, if he even had a voice at all.

“I want to,” Sylvain replied firmly. “Everything that happened to you...if I were a religious man I’d take the Goddess’ name in vain. Knowing even the tiniest portion of that, I would have told you that the fury you felt today is completely, _completely_ justified. I can’t even imagine being in your position.

“Most of all, that fury you felt...that’s not the only part of you. That fury comes from the person who was trapped for three years but has been free for over six. It’s the past now, and it’s only a small part of the man I care about. It’s not a dominant part at all.”

His words felt inelegant - clumsy, even - but Sylvain didn’t think Felix minded all that much. He was still shaking a little, his face stained red with tears, the occasional sob wracking his body, but he looked like he was doing better. He leaned in against Sylvain’s shoulder, his arms clutched tightly around his back.

“Do you need anything?” Sylvain asked after a while of him just breathing there. Felix didn’t look up, but Sylvain could feel him shake his head against his chest.

“I need sleep,” he said eventually.

“I think that can be arranged,” he replied, his own mouth twisting into a soft, sleepy smile. He wasn’t sure if it was better to describe the time as late night or early morning, but Felix had been talking for a while. They’d both need all the rest they could get.

Sylvain rearranged himself on the sofa and let Felix curl up against him. By now, Sylvain was so used to sleeping beside him that he could tell when Felix finally drifted off into sleep; his breathing evened out, he made a little more noise, and he uncurled very slightly. He ended up with his hands resting loosely on Sylvain’s sleeping shirt, curled up a little on his chest and a little on his lap.

He was breathtaking. Beautiful. The most handsome man Sylvain had ever seen, and also the bravest. He didn’t know anyone who had overcome quite as many things as Felix. And Sylvain...well, he knew it wasn’t exactly his place to make a judgement on the way Felix had handled everything, but Sylvain was proud of him. Endlessly proud.

“I love you,” he whispered. Maybe soon he’d be able to say it when Felix could hear it.

* * *

The moons passed, and the war progressed. They were on a steady trajectory upwards, and everyone knew that the final battle was fast approaching. Within days, they’d be marching on Enbarr, and the whole of Fódlan knew it.

The whole of Fódlan, unfortunately, included his father. Barely two days before they were due to leave, Sylvain received a letter.

‘Dear Sylvain,  
I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits.  
I regret having to write this letter, but the things I have heard from numerous soldiers of the Kingdom unfortunately means I must take the time out of the many efforts that require my attention to give you a warning. A final warning, if you will.  
I have heard continuous reports of your increasingly close association with one Felix Hugo Fraldarius. I know we have not always seen eye to eye on this particular individual, but I write in the hope that you will come to understand how serious my concerns are.  
Felix Hugo Fraldarius may be the future Duke of Fraldarius territory, but his...inclinations are well known and feared by many within the Kingdom. Reports do, of course, vary, but all agree on one thing: the future Duke is dangerous, more unstable than the Prince at even the darkest hours of our fair Kingdom, and completely unsuitable as any kind of governor.  
As such, I warn you that he will not be an acceptable partner in any form in the moons to come. If you wish to maintain your position as heir to Gautier territory, I advise that you distance yourself from him as soon as humanly possible. I did not want to write this, but if you do not follow my words, I will have to search elsewhere for a suitable individual. I am sure you understand.  
I wish you luck in the battle ahead. Please heed my advice well and reply with your decision.  
-Your father.’

Sylvain’s first impulse was to throw it on the fire; he did that with a lot of his letters from his father. But he also knew that this was important. With the war coming to its end and his father thinking more concretely about the future, maybe he should too.

Naturally, he took the letter to Felix, who read it with his mouth set in a firm line. “Your father is an asshole,” he decided. Sylvain agreed. “Let’s write a reply.”

Sylvain nodded and took a pen in one hand. “Dear Father,” he started. Felix’s frown deepened.

“Is he dear to you?” he asked.

“I guess not,” Sylvain replied, but his hand hovered over striking the word through. “But I don’t really want to set him off on a politeness thing. If I do, he’ll never-”

“Never what?” Felix asked. Sylvain’s motions stilled. He wasn’t sure. “What do you want from this letter, Sylvain?”

Sylvain’s face twisted into a grimace. “I mean...cutting you off isn’t an option. That’s why I need to reply, to tell him that’s completely off the table. But I- I’m-” Afraid. He was afraid. He didn’t know what his father would do in response to this, pushed completely to the edge of his patience, and Sylvain was afraid. “I’m worried about the things he could force me into.”

When Sylvain was younger and spent a lot of time throwing himself at anyone who showed the slightest amount of interest, his father used to joke about marrying him to someone without asking to get him to settle down. It was always something that brought any conversation to a grinding halt, and Sylvain never knew if his father had been serious about his intentions or not.

“What can he actually do?” Felix asked, leaning back against the bedroom wall. “If you don’t talk to him ever again, never go to Gautier territory…”

“Are you suggesting something, Felix?” Sylvain asked, quirking an eyebrow. Goddess, if Felix asked him to elope with him...he didn’t think he’d have the strength to say no.

“No, I’m just stating a fact,” Felix replied. “You’re the only legitimate heir to Gautier. I know your father talks about disowning you or something in that letter, but if he cares that much about your Crest or whatever then he won’t do that.”

“And if he does follow through on his threat in the letter?”

“You didn’t want to be the Margrave anyway, right? You can just run the Dukedom for me,” Felix suggested, a hint of a smile creeping onto his face. Sylvain felt a little of the tension behind his eyes ease. “I’d be glad for the help.”

Sylvain couldn’t help but let out a little sigh of relief. Felix was right; there was very little his father could actually do. Either he kept Sylvain around and Sylvain got to decide how much he spent time with or listened to him, or his father got rid of him and Sylvain never had to see him again. “I might take you up on that,” he said, reaching across the gap between the desk and the bed to take Felix’s right hand in his left. “Now I have to write this letter.”

He spent longer than he’d like to admit choosing his words, but eventually he got it down. ‘Father,’ it began. ‘I am sorry but not surprised to receive your letter. I am writing, as I imagine you suspected I would, to decline your advice on these issues. Felix Hugo Fraldarius is my trusted partner in all things, including in writing this letter, and I will not cut any of my ties with him on the basis of cruel rumours.  
Felix is a highly competent and greatly admired part of the Kingdom army. In the years to come, he will be Duke Fraldarius; the right hand man to the King and one of the most powerful people in all of Fódlan. I see no reason to avoid him in any way, other than your own petty dislike of a man I admire greatly.  
If you wish to find another heir, I welcome your efforts. Know that if you do not relent in your insistence upon finding someone else to share my time with, I will not be returning to Gautier at the war’s close.  
Make your decision wisely, because my own opinion has not, and will not, change.  
Yours,  
Sylvain.’

The only thing left to do once it was written was to check with someone who had the authority to back him up if his father had the guts to try and throw his weight around. So, the day before they set out for Enbarr, Sylvain caught Dimitri on his way out of a meeting about something or other - Sylvain could never keep track of all the things Dimitri was doing these days.

“Hypothetical question, Dimitri,” he started, and Dimitri’s face took on a decidedly curious expression. Sylvain never got tired of seeing him express his emotions more. “ _If_ my father had written a foul letter to me, and _if_ I penned something equally foul in response, would you consent to my sending it?”

“Yes, of course,” Dimitri said, his voice full of...something close to happiness. “You do not need my permission to do such a thing. They may be Kingdom matters, but they are also family matters. That said...I must ask you one thing first.”

“Go ahead,” Sylvain said, hoping his smile didn’t falter too much.

“Do you love him?” The question almost took him by surprise. Of _course_ he loved Felix. He was more sure of that than anything else.

Yet still, when Sylvain replied the conviction in his voice was more than he’d expected. “With everything I have.”

“Then do whatever you wish to secure your future alongside Felix,” Dimitri said, his small smile peeking through. “You may absolutely, with my full authority - as much as it means anything in a case like this - put your foot down. The Kingdom must change, and such petty prejudices will not stand.”

“Thanks, Dimitri,” Sylvain replied with a grin. “You’re going to be an absolutely fantastic king.”

* * *

Every word felt heavy in the night before the final assault on Enbarr. In exchange, Sylvain didn’t say much to Felix.

He knew that some were making what may be their final thoughts known before the final battle of this war. Sylvain caught sight of Ashe making Dedue promise he’d survive, of Dimitri quietly telling Flayn that he was expecting to eat another meal of hers once everything was said and done.

Sylvain...Sylvain didn’t say anything of the sort. He and Felix spent their time together, as always. They slept side by side in their shared tent, but they didn’t share any words that were out of the ordinary. There were no promises. Not even an acknowledgement that this was the end.

He knew that would be too much. It would put too much pressure on his shoulders, and on Felix’s. They’d spoken many times of their fears of what would happen when the war ended, so putting it into words once more...it was better to leave it for when the battle was won.

And the battle was won. It went, mostly, according to plan. Edelgard was a- well, it seemed like everything she did spiralled further away from the realms of rational thinking with each action she took. It was a shame, but Sylvain couldn’t pretend to understand everything that happened. Everything that existed between her and Dimitri, her and the Church...it was beyond his knowledge.

He wondered idly if, in another world, maybe Felix would have been equally incomprehensible. But he wasn’t, and they were in the present fighting the final moments of a war that had gone on far too long. There was no use to hypotheticals when all they needed to do was survive.

When the shouts of the wake of battle had died down a little, Sylvain watched as Felix slipped away from the rest of the crowd. Wordlessly, he turned away from the burgeoning celebrations and followed him.

They ended up on a balcony overlooking the palace gardens where Sylvain and Felix had worked in tandem to strike down the strange wielders of the blackest magic Sylvain had ever seen. The sun had long since set, and in its place, the moonlight almost obscured the bloodstains down below.

“It’s over,” Sylvain murmured, coming to take his place at Felix’s side. Felix shifted very slightly closer to him as he did so.

“It is.” They lapsed into silence for a moment, and for some reason Sylvain felt oddly calm. His breathing was even, his head felt clear. There was so much still up in the air, but for now...everything was going to be fine.

As the moon rose higher and shone ever brighter, Felix spoke again. “Hey, Sylvain? Remember the promise we made when we were kids?” 

Sylvain’s heart picked up speed. His voice sounded slightly strange when he spoke. “Of course. We stay together until we die together.”

“We made it through this, but…” Felix turned towards him and met Sylvain’s eyes. He dropped onto one knee, fumbling for just a moment with something in his pack. Sylvain felt like he was going to cry. “I don’t just want that promise from all those years ago. I want you. You are- the single most incredible person in my life. I feel at home when I’m beside you. So please. Marry me?”

“Felix, I-” He was crying. Goddess, he was crying, and there were tears in Felix’s eyes too, and a huge smile on his face, and- “Of course. Yes, I’ll marry you. A hundred times.”

Felix rose, his dark hair catching the moonlight, and he slipped the ring onto Sylvain’s finger as he leaned in for a kiss. “I love you, Sylvain.”

Sylvain thought of quiet realisations in the middle of the night, words left unspoken for years. He thought of a world which had been, for four long years, without Felix. He thought of clenched fists and unshed tears and love. Love, despite everything bitter in both their lives.

“I love you too, Felix.”


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end, complete with closure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include discussion of human experimentation and clinical language relating to this

The road had been long and hard but, finally, the mission to stamp out the people who hid in the shadows of Fódlan was nearing its end. They were at what was, to the best of their knowledge, their final stop: a small, nondescript building in north west Faerghus.

Inside, there were only a handful of soldiers. As the battles wore on, the challenge these people could put up only lessened; they were at the very end of their forces and supplies. They were disconnected from any peers who could help them. This would be easy as anything.

Sylvain dispatched the first guard, Felix the second, and Ingrid swooped in a moment later. “The skies are clear,” she said. “I think we’re good to go inside.”

“Do you think we need any backup?” Sylvain asked, and they both shook their heads. There was nothing that indicated that this would be in any way difficult. If they had the soldiers to keep people out of the facility, they’d probably be out here.

The rooms inside seemed to have been part of some kind of research facility; there were papers stacked up everywhere thick with dust. The people who remained, who barely put up even an inch of a fight, seemed to have just been living there. It was almost sad, really; it was clear none of the work was ongoing. 

Once they’d cleared out all the rooms, Ingrid waved them both over. “There’s a passage down to a basement!” she called, letting Sylvain light a torch and pass it to her. Sylvain took the rear of their group, and Felix stood between them.

Once they were most of the way down the stairs, Felix froze. Sylvain almost bumped into him, but stopped just short. “You doing alright, Felix?” he asked, keeping his voice quiet.

“It’s here,” came the reply, low and slightly shaky. Sylvain nodded; he understood exactly what that meant.

“Do you want to stay up here? I’m sure Ingrid and I can handle it ourselves.”

“No.” Felix’s voice was firm. “I want to do this.”

First, they checked a room Sylvain recognised from Felix’s account: a dimly lit room with a training dummy in the centre, hard-packed earth all around it. Next to the dummy, there was a wooden sword that lay discarded on the ground.

Sylvain watched as Felix inched slightly closer to the sword and bent down to pick it up. The moment his fingertips brushed the hilt, he threw it across the room like it burned. He looked up into Sylvain’s worried gaze. “I’m fine,” he said. His voice shook a little. “We should go somewhere else. There’s nothing to see here.”

Briefly, Sylvain poked his head into the examination room, but before he could take a proper look around at what was left, Ingrid’s voice sounded down the corridor. “Felix, Sylvain! You should come and look at this.”

They walked down the hallway Felix had walked up so many times and through the open door into the dark room beyond. Sylvain looked at the bed, scratched and dirty. He looked at the heap of blankets on the ground that must have been collecting dust for years. He looked at a candle, half burned down, and the books, dog eared and faded with age.

He saw the cage Felix had described so many times. It was...tiny, and Sylvain couldn’t press down the small amount of horror he felt seeing it. Was Felix ever even that small?

“This is terrible,” Ingrid said, her voice cracking slightly as she spoke. “There’s dry blood everywhere, all over the floor. I hope whoever was held here rests in peace.”

Sylvain opened his mouth to tell her to just stop talking, but Felix shook his head. “Ingrid,” he said, his voice slightly soft. “The person who stayed here isn’t dead.” Unsurprisingly, Ingrid got the message; the line of her mouth hardened and she said no more.

Carefully, they backed away from the room and went back to the lab area. Sylvain flung open several cabinets, each one was filled with vials and vials of blood. He knew, from Felix’s stories, that they were all his. Goddess, there must have been hundreds of them.

The cupboards, by contrast, were full of papers. Sylvain opened the first one he came across. ‘Subject is increasingly nauseous and weak. The cause remains unknown.’ He closed it, turned to another. ‘Subject is degenerating wildly and appears depressed. Action needed.’ He put the papers down and practically slammed the drawer closed. No one needed to see that.

Sylvain opened each cupboard, hoping that he’d see something different. Eventually, in the one furthest from the door, he saw a larger sheaf of paper labelled ‘Final Report’. He picked it up and put it down on the counter. “Felix, this is the last one. Do you want to see it?”

Felix eyed it up warily for a moment and then nodded. “We’ll take it back with us,” he said. He looked at the examination bench and shuddered. “There’s no point staying here.”

They took the report back to the small camp they’d set up just a short distance away. Once Ingrid had headed to bed, Sylvain and Felix sat on watch - just in case. Felix produced the report only an hour or so in. “Want to hear it?” he asked, turning to the first page.

“Only if you want to tell me,” Sylvain replied. Felix nodded.

“It starts off with ‘The Major Fraldarius Crest Project centred around the existence of a major Crest of Fraldarius within the last remaining child of Duke Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius - the child called himself Felix Hugo Fraldarius. The aim of the project was to experiment with the creation of a supersoldier through the enhancement of Crest blood content.’ Ugh, this is boring, I’m skipping to another bit.

“It continues like this. ‘The process relies on a technique to replace regular Fódlans blood content with that of the Naba’...Nabasomethings. Nabateans? I don’t know how to pronounce that. ‘This then increases the power and potency of the Crest to match something closer to those from which they came.’ I suppose that answers the question of what she was doing to me. Somehow it seems...too simple.”

“Felix, you don’t owe me this,” Sylvain said. There was a curious kind of horror to the report being read out, the words of a dead woman who had held Felix for so long, and he didn’t want Felix to say anything he didn’t want Sylvain to hear. “If you want to stop, please do.”

“No, I want to know,” Felix said firmly. “I want to understand what she did to me. The next bit of the summary reads ‘Instead of the projected aims, however, the subject proved too fragile. He broke down emotionally frequently and was unable to follow instructions or directions.’ Goddess, she thought a lot of herself, didn’t she?

“‘Based on the researcher’s views, the subject did not remain conscious long enough to adjust to the biological changes of the process. This was unavoidable due to his lack of compliance. Abnormalities in response may also be due to abnormal brain chemistry, noted by-’ I’m giving up on this bit. She’s covering her failures.

“The final part goes like this ‘Overall, the project was a failure. It took a long period of time and produced an individual more powerful but far more limited than before. Engaging in such a project on a large scale would be next to impossible due to a lack of test subjects, and its efficacy would be uncertain.’”

Felix stopped reading, and Sylvain turned to look at him. His face had gone slightly pale. “After that, there’s a section on the possibility of reversing the process. Getting rid of the changes she made to my blood.”

Sylvain leaned in and took Felix’s left hand in his right, running his thumb over the metal band of his wedding ring. “Do you want that?” he asked. He would do whatever Felix wanted if he just asked.

Felix tugged on Sylvain’s hand, pulling him to his feet so they could walk over to the fire in the centre of their camp. Without a moment’s notice, he threw the report on the fire. Sylvain watched it burn in the light reflecting in Felix’s eyes.

Felix smiled at him. “I think I’m happy just the way I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so so much for reading! It would mean a lot to me if you left a comment, a lot of hard work and effort went into this fic and it means the world to me.
> 
> I also have a twitter over @samariumwriting - I talk a lot about fic and miscellaneous other things!
> 
> And with that, heck. This fic is DONE.


End file.
